Ann'da
by french-charlotte
Summary: New alliances are formed, yet a dark and sinister evil is brewing just below the surface for a blood elf. Sequel to 'Treason'.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! After much work, I'm finally publishing my second story! I want to take this time to thank those of you who have sent me messages pertaining to this sequel, and its belatedness. Your kind words and dedication are such an inspiration to keep writing. Thank you so much. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this published. Within a month, I graduated from undergrad., moved to a different state, and was married. Phew! Now that everything has settled down a bit, I can pick up my writing again. **

*****IMPORTANT******

**This story is a sequel from my first, _Treason_. However, I have tried to make it a stand alone for those of you who do not wish to read my first story; though its highly recommended. If you haven't read my first story, this one is a spoiler for it. **

**For those of you who have read, _Treason_, this story is structured a bit differently. I received multiple requests for different plots, so I'm trying to incorporate a couple of them in this story. While it's set up differently from my first, my editor assures me the story is equally as good. **

**Thanks again guys! **

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"Five minutes till roll call!"

The bunkroom of bustling soldiers increased their pacing's, the lieutenant's yelling voice echoing through the large room. The men moved through the barrack in a hurried speed; strapping weapons on their backs or securing armor to their frames in preparation for the day. Majority of the soldiers making up the bunkroom were young, their eager yet tired faces ready for the day of training with the battalion. Laughing and talking filled the large room, the soldiers looking forward to the day of physical exercises ahead of them. They had been informed the night before that the day would consist of conditioning, implemented with aspects of dueling different classes. Having not been deployed for over eight months, the commanding officer wanted to keep the company warmed up and battle ready at all times; regardless if it required redundant drills and practices.

Turning off the taps, Deimos Ares'mar shook his head to rid the water soaking his short blonde hair. The cold shower was nothing new to the blood elf; he was rather used to being the last in the bathing area. Though he was one of the first soldiers awake, the young elf slipped out of the barracks to meditate in peace in Elwynn Forest. It wasn't that he struggled with falling into trance in the bunkroom, but after countless ridicules and mockery, the paladin had finally given up. Living in the Alliance barrack for almost four months, the elf had gotten quite used to the mocking and harassment. Being the only blood elf and once-Horde soldier, Deimos naturally assumed there would be several issues with his presence in the bunkroom. However, he also assumed it would pass with time. Sighing to himself, the young elf leaned over the half wall enclosing the shower to retrieve a waiting white towel.

It had been eight months since he overheard the trolls planning the assassination on the blood elf's leader, after which he was captured and brought back to Stormwind. Living with a commanding officer of the Alliance, the blood elf gained the respect of the king by saving his life during a raid on the city by the Horde. He was allowed to return to Silvermoon City to warn his people about the Horde's betrayal, after which his race dissimilated from the faction. It was five months ago that the blood elf returned to the human city, a letter from his leader addressed to King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind; discussing the Sin'dorei's interest in joining the Alliance. Deimos had been declared the ambassador from the blood elves, the king welcoming the young elf into the city. Wanting to continue being a soldier, the paladin had joined Warren Steele's, his host while on city arrest, battalion; moving out of the man's house and into the barracks with the rest of the soldiers. Correspondence between the Sin'dorei and the Alliance had been conducted via letters, discussions and negotiations being kept to a minimum for security purposes. However, word had spread that the blood elves were en route to Stormwind for further deliberations.

Drying himself off, Deimos wrapped the towel around his hips as he watched the hoards of human males make their way towards the twin wooden doors at the front of bunkroom. They moved with excitement, adrenaline pumping through their blood at the prospect of the day. Though he lived with the humans for months, the young elf still found the race revolting in their cleanliness. Being in a large group of only men added to the disgusting habits; contrasting sharply with the Sin'dorei's neat and sanitary lifestyle. Shaking his head as he watched half the humans leave the bunkroom without showering, Deimos found the race's behavior sordid.

Taking a deep sigh, the young paladin knew he didn't have much time to dress and garb himself in his plate armor for the upcoming drills. Several minutes had already passed since the officer had announced the countdown till roll call; the pace in the room increasing with fear of having the commanding officer's scorn at being late. Testing the tightness of the towel around his waist, Deimos moved out from the shower towards his bed.

He was thankful to have gotten a bottom bunk; the thought of having to sleep with a human below him was rather uncomfortable. His white blanket was already pulled taunt around the thin mattress resting on the iron bunk frame; a white pillow resting at the head of the bed. His unnatural green eyes furiously scanning the neat bed, Deimos felt his blood boil. He had set out his clothes prior to showering; the missing garments from the bed making him shake in fury. Having had to deal with the human's hazings for several months, the young elf hoped his fellow soldiers would have either gotten tired of harassing him or, better yet, accepted him as part of the battalion. Unfortunately, it was evident that neither had occurred.

Feeling a hand clasp itself around his bare shoulder, Deimos turned annoyed and irritated eyes towards the new presence. A wide smiling young man looked back at him, amusement etched on his features. "Something the matter, Ares'mar? Better get going before you're late."

Gritting his teeth at the human in front of him, Deimos glared at the man. "You son of a-"

Laughing loudly at the angry retort coming from the elf, the man joined the throng of human's emptying out of the bunkroom; weapons strapped to their hips and backs. Feeling his fair cheeks flush with anger, the young elf turned his gaze back towards his bunk, as if willing the missing clothes to materialize out of sheer determination. Sighing to himself, the paladin crouched down to retrieve his chest full of a clothes and possessions under the bunk; figuring he would simply retrieve a different set of clothing. Slamming his closed fist on the stoned ground in rage, the young elf was rewarded with open space; his fellow soldiers had seized his trunk as well. Setting his jaw in anger, Deimos knew he didn't have to look for his armor and sword to know that those were also missing as well.

* * *

Smiling at the bright sun that began to spread its rays over the landscape, Warren Steele hoped the bright weather would lift the spirits of his company. Having not seen action in months, he knew the soldiers were getting restless; which almost always spelled disaster in the barracks and practice. Drills and duels became sloppy, their movements lethargic from the lack of exercise. However, the older man hoped the increase in duration on the practice fields would help remedy the problem. Readjusting the plate armor resting over his chest, the warrior moved under a stoned archway towards the forested training grounds.

Though the day was being graced with the sun's light, the late fall wasn't kind to the citizens of Stormwind. The near freezing temperatures froze the morning dew to the blades of grass, frost covering most of the forest. Thankfully, the warrior knew the drills would be sufficient to keep the soldiers warm through the day; fully expecting to see members of his battalion shedding clothing despite the frigid temperatures. Grinning to himself, the warrior looked forward to the drills he had in mind for the company.

Reaching the open forested space, Warren glanced at the multiple lines of soldiers standing in wait for their commanding officer. A thick aisle was created in the middle of the area, rows of individuals on each side of the walkway facing it. A proud smile spreading across his face, the commander glanced at the two captains waiting patiently in the middle of the aisle before gazing at the nearly two hundred standing soldiers. Pets stood dutifully next to hunters, their eyes focused on their masters' face in wait for a command. Warlocks talked in hushed whispers to waiting minions, while warriors stood stoic faced.

Walking forward, all the attention was drawn to the older man making his way down the formed path. Immediately, the soldiers stood upright, their postures tensing and hands going up to their foreheads in a respectful salute. The waiting captain's gave a slight tilt of their heads at his presence, their faces blank and unreadable. Readjusting his sword resting on his hip, Warren allowed his eyes to scan the silent opening in the forest while he walked down the aisle. Taking in the uniformed stance of the soldiers, the commander felt his brows go together and a heavy sigh leave his lips at a lone individual in the front row.

Stopping his walking at the blood elf, Warren tilted his head in impatience at the boy. Arms defiantly crossed over his naked chest, the elf wore nothing save a towel wrapped around his hips, a golden earring in his left pointed ear, and a ruby pendant on a chain around his neck. His posture was leaned to one side, annoyance and infuriation seeping from his stance. His jaw was clenched in anger, his shoulders unable to hide the shivers that raked his body.

"Ares'mar," Warren began, sighing as rage filled green eyes met his inquisitive brown ones. "I'm interested to see how you plan on practicing in only a towel."

A quiet chuckle next to the elf caused both Warren and Deimos to whip their heads at the man standing beside the paladin. Matheus Williams, rogue and friend of the Sin'dorei, quickly turned the laugh into a cough, turning his head as he brought a hand up to conceal the mirth on his face. Gritting his teeth at the lack of support from his friend, the young elf turned his eyes back to the older man. "Maybe you should ask the bastards that stole my clothes."

"At least they gave him a towel this time," a voice behind the elf sounded. Snarling in anger at the comment and reminder of a previous hazing, the elf whipped around, his fist swinging through the air. Satisfied when he felt his punch connect with the priest's nose, Deimos prepared to unleash another fist before a strong hand grabbed is raised arm.

"That's enough!" Warren strong voice bellowed at the young elf, dropping his grasp on his upper arm. Deimos, anger and embarrassment causing his flaxen cheeks to burn, turned back to the older man. Readjusting the wrapped towel, the paladin shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an effort to return blood flow to his freezing bare feet.

Opening his mouth to address the elf, Warren distractedly noticed a young man run behind him, embarrassment and panic on his face. He gripped a polearm in one hand, the other arm supporting the shifting plate armor on his chest from his running. "Sorry I'm late, Commander Steele." The human boy paused, a smirk going across his face as he glanced at Deimos. "Looking good, Ares'mar."

Seeing red from the remark, Deimos took an aggressive step towards the laughing human; a firm hand placed itself on his chest to stop his advancement. Warren gave the angry elf a disapproving look before turning to regard the chuckling human. "One mile, Leanith. Now."

The boy gave a sigh at the punishment though the amusement and mirth never left his eyes. He eyed the furious elf once more, the smirk never faltering, his eyes seeming to attempt to send a hidden meaning to the elf. His eyes were darkened with mockery and amusement, making Deimos mutely wonder the underlying intent. A sly smile going across his face, the young man turned away from the elf as he commenced his mile run punishment.

His eyes roaming Deimos' body, Warren took in his crossed arms over his chest in an effort to maintain heat in the freezing air. His frame shook with shivers, a blue tint reaching his pursed lips. Running a tired hand over his face, this was not the way the man had planned the day of practice to begin. Turning to the patiently waiting captains, he addressed them with a firm voice. "Start the roll call and drills. I'll be back."

Satisfied when the second in commands gave a brisk nod of their heads, Warren gripped the young elf's upper arm to beckon him forward. "Let's go before you get sick."

Walking besides the shorter man down the makeshift aisle, Deimos gritted his teeth when catcalls and whistles erupted from the waiting soldiers. He kept his green eyes downcast, refusing to meet the stares boring into him, while the captains chastised the soldiers. Warren seemed to pick up on the elf's discomfort, increasing his pace out of the forested training grounds. Taking a turn into a stoned doorway to the large complex of barracks, the warrior spared a quick glance at the young elf. His eyes still focused on the floor, shame and embarrassment were etched on his fair face. Raising an eyebrow when Deimos sniffled as they entered the building, Warren gave a sigh. "Are you sick? Do you need to see a priest?"

Shaking his head, the young elf kept his gaze on the limestone ground in front of him. He gave a quick glance at the man as they passed other battalions' barracks, making their way through the passageways towards Warrens'. "No, I'll be fine."

"Deimos, I understand why you want to stay in the barracks but," Warren paused, hesitantly trying to select words. "It's not working out. The men aren't ready to accept you quite yet."

Swallowing hard, the paladin shook his head in disagreement, a small grin spreading across his features. "I'll be fine. Or are you that lonely at the house that you miss me?"

Shaking his head at the sarcastic comment, Warren had to admit to himself that after living with the elf for three months, he had gotten used to his presence. While he was initially thrilled at the prospect of Deimos moving out of his own home and into the barracks, the warrior soon began to regret it. The hazing to the paladin became progressively worse; starting with little pranks, like his sword being glued in its sheathe. However, the men had increased their vigor in the jokes; Deimos attending the drills naked or mana deprived from someone stealing his fel ore. "Move back to the house. We can try this arrangement later; once the men have gotten used to you."

Eyeing the man skeptically, Deimos gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

Sighing at the stubborn elf, Warren was satisfied when they reached the familiar oak doors leading to the barracks of the men in his company. While there were women in his battalion, they were housed in a separate part of the complex; ensuring the two genders didn't mix. Eyes roaming the barren bunkroom, the warrior was bombarded with memories of his own time in the barracks. While the soldiers played pranks and jokes on each other, they never crossed the delicate line that the men did with Deimos. Shaking his head as he watched the half naked elf approached his bed, Warren gave a small sigh of relief. Resting on top of the bunk was the paladin's plate armor and sword; a bundle of clothes resting on the side. At the foot of the bed was a wooden trunk, Deimos' name carved on the top.

Observing the young elf hesitantly lift up his possessions and inspect them, Warren watched as a confused and cautious look passed over Deimos' face. Dropping the clothes on the bed, the paladin slowly picked up the white pillow resting at the head of the bed, his eyes boring into the piece of bedding. Brows together in confusion at the boy's odd behavior, the older man took a step towards the elf.

Emitting a groan that sounded like a mix of a sob and an angered grunt, Deimos whipped the pillow to the stoned floor; turning his back on the object of his anger and the bewildered man. Eyebrows up in surprise and curiosity, Warren crouched down at the pillow on the ground. "Deimos, what's-"

Stopping midsentence, the warrior saw the reason for the elf's outburst. A translucent liquid stained the pillow, the consistency confirming the man's suspicions. Someone had gotten intimate on the young elf's bedding, the revolting evidence as clear as day. Standing up from his crouched position, the older man ran an irritated hand over his face, anger and disgust resonating off his body. "This has gone too far. I'll find out who-"

Whipping around to address the man, the young elf shook his head at the man furiously. A scarlet blush covered his cheeks, his face contorted in humiliation and horror at who defiled his pillow. "It doesn't matter, Warren. They won't admit it. They never do!"

"When is enough enough, Deimos? If you know they won't stop, then come home. This," the man gestured madly to the stained pillow. "is unacceptable; and I can only imagine what it'll escalate into."

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the young elf gave a deep sigh as he kept his eyes trained on the floor; the blush on his face deepening from the man's words. Reluctantly nodding, the paladin turned his eyes towards his angry commanding officer; his voice coming out in a defeated whisper. "Fine. I'll pack up after training. You can expect me tonight."

Sighing in relief, the older man nodded. "Good. I haven't touched your room so moving back in shouldn't be an issue."

Unsure how or what to say with a response, the precarious situation causing the air around him to feel stiff and uncomfortable, Deimos simply gave a small yet brisk nod. Turning his head to the side in an effort to break eye contact with the older human, he eyed the long and broad sword lying delicately on the bed with feigned interest. The vile and repulsive act stirred many feelings in the young elf; anger, resentment, embarrassment, yet also confusion. While his predominant feelings were that of utmost rage, he couldn't help but feel a bit torn. Over his months of living in the human city, the paladin had fallen in love with Stormwind. Having gotten accustomed to the strange stares from the citizens, Deimos looked forward to weaving in and out of the mad crowds the trade district housed. He found great pleasure in swapping war stories with Matheus over drinks at the tavern. Though Warren often told him otherwise, he got small satisfaction when visiting the Park, stirring up arguments and century old wounds with the night elves. Though he missed Silvermoon City, the human capital had quickly become home for Deimos. While he was tempted to berate and harbor a grudge against the human race for the atrocity that the soldier committed against him, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

* * *

"So then, I figured this is the end of the duel, right? The kid was mana deprived-"

"-I wouldn't have been if you didn't throw and smash my mana potion."

"Will you let me tell the story?"

"Can you tell it right?"

Clearing his throat loudly, Warren was quick to hide his smirk by stealing a sip out of his glass of bourbon. Reveling in the dark liquid that warmed his chest, the commander darted his eyes between the two bickering men sitting opposite the table from him. A goblet of fine wine resting in front of him, Deimos sent a heated yet mirthful glare at Matheus; who painted his face with a feigned look of confusion with too much ease. Keeping his word, Deimos had swiftly packed his meager belongings following the practice and drills. Using all of his self reserve to ignore the ridiculing and mocking words being yelled at him from the soldiers, the young elf hastily made his way to Warren's house. Sensing the paladin's tense and anxious presence, Warren was quick to suggest going to the tavern for drinks.

"Anyways," Matheus began again, sending a silencing glare Deimos' way, only to be responded with one of equal intensity. "So, I'm ready to finish it. Not a big deal though. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I bested him, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last."

"Light! Can you just tell the damn story?"

"Can you wait patiently without wetting yourself, kid?" Smirking at the angry flush that visibly washed over the paladin's fair face, Matheus rolled his eyes. "Alright. So, I go in for the killing blow. And, BAM, I'm a foot tall and wandering around aimlessly. Look up to see what the hell happened, only to see Deimos standing over me – by the way, you're freakishly tall to penguins – and he's laughing."

Grinning ear to ear at the rogue's annoyance with the story, Warren raised his brows in surprise. "Who polymorphed you?"

"Who else? Lena. She's like his little keeper or something." Stopping to shrug his shoulders in quick thought, the rogue continued with a lighter tone to his voice. "I guess we should be happy that she even got the polymorph right. Remember last month with Talenop? Poor bastard was stuck a sheep for a week."

"Yeah but I think he liked it. He said he found the whole concept of grazing relaxing."

Nodding at Deimos' words, Matheus sent his look to Warren while setting his jaw in determination. "But anyways, the gnome interfered. Isn't that not allowed, or something?"

"Who won the duel?"

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance at his commander, Matheus didn't bother to hide the edge that overtook his voice. "It doesn't matter; the duel wasn't fair anymore. He had outside assistance, which in duels shouldn't be allowed."

Bringing his brows together in thought, Warren leaned forward on his elbows while rapidly contemplating the situation. "She finished her duel, Matheus. Whatever she wanted to do with her time after that was up to her."

Wearing a broad and haughty smile, Deimos clapped the irate and aggravated rogue on the shoulder. "I have this distant memory of someone telling me, 'Expect the unexpected', after being ambushed on a roof."

Slapping the blood elf's touch away with a mixture of annoyance and jollity, Matheus attempted to hold his incensed glare directed at the Sin'dorei with determination. However much he tried though, the cracked façade showed the mirthful expressions he truly harbored. "You smug-"

"So, I assume Deimos won?"

Ripping his gaze from the arrogant posture Deimos assumed, Matheus gave a small and beaten nod of his head. "While I was waddling around the forest, the kid chugged some water. But had that damned gnome not inferred, I would have been wiping the floor with him."

Silently snickering at the rogue's inability to admit defeat, Warren sipped the top of his drink in pleasure. Glancing around the tavern, the commander wasn't the least bit surprised at the company the establishment attracted. The Pig and Whistle Tavern, located in Old Town, was a usual haunt for both veterans of past wars and officers in need of the pleasures of alcohol. Being conveniently located by the command center, soldiers found great joy in both the stress relief of the drinks and the eye candy of the bar maidens. His eyes easily finding the one bar maiden that stole his heart, Warren felt his cheeks flush slightly when she turned to meet his stare.

"I hear the blood elves are coming to the city soon," Matheus began, oblivious to the commanders silent courting with the woman across the room. "I hope they bring some female soldiers."

Gripping the brushed silver goblet in one hand, Deimos gave a small grin while swirling the red liquid in thought. When he first came to the city he found the lack of delicate and aged wine disheartening and troubling. However, after speaking with the owner of the tavern and ensuring a small shipment of wine more of his caliber, Deimos became more at ease in the bar. "Even if they did come, you wouldn't stand a chance with them."

Crossing his arms over his chest with a lifted brow, Matheus leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "Is that a challenge, kid?"

Lifting the goblet to sip the remainder of the aged wine, Deimos rolled his eyes at the usual antics the rogue possessed. Having become close friends with the human, the young elf was quite accustomed to his womanizing and wanton ways. Not the least bit experienced in the art of women himself, mostly due to his tender age of twenty years, Deimos found Matheus' actions amusing. "Sin'dorei society isn't the same in regards to…sexuality as human society is." Pausing to contemplate his words, the young elf couldn't stop the half grin that grew on his face. "You would be stigmatized in our culture."

Snorting incredulously at the insult, Matheus narrowed his eyes at the paladin sitting beside him with a mixture of malice and curiosity. "So, there's no lying with women in Silvermoon, is that what you're saying?"

Glancing over at Warren in hopes of seeing some sort of assistance or aid in an explanation, Deimos knew he was damned at soloing the discussion with the blank face that stared back at him. "Well, intimacy is typically reserved for either a married couple, or one that's engaged to marry. It's not considered…suitable to become intimate while courting a woman."

Shaking his head at the words in disbelief, the rogue allowed a small snicker to pass through his lips. "No wonder you're so inexperienced."

"So," Warren began while leaning forward, his brows scrunched together in curiosity and interest, "even with the destruction of Silvermoon and the Sin'dorei nearly being wiped out, your culture didn't see an increase in intimacy? At least for the purpose of reproduction?"

Giving a shrug of his shoulders and a grin spreading on his face, Deimos gazed into the empty goblet resting in front of him. "I'm not really the right person to be answering that. I was born two years after the attack; conceived and born a blood elf."

"Well at any rate, if there are any female blood elves, we'll see how much they can resist my charm. Cultural norms or not," Matheus stated, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

Shaking his head at the response, Deimos knew that as much as Matheus wished and longed for a female Sin'dorei, the young blood elf highly doubted any would step foot into Stormwind. While women were seen taking up arms in the military, their services were typically reserved for less demanding tasks. His old company in Silvermoon consisting of several females, Deimos was comfortable with fighting beside the opposite sex. The commander of the battalion, his father, also harbored similar thoughts and feelings; not allowing discrimination to dictate his decision at stationing the women on the front lines. While other commanding officers found the battalion's ways strange and peculiar, the sheer amount of victories and progression by the company quelled all criticisms.

His gaze locked on the aged and worn goblet resting on the warped table, Deimos didn't pay any heed to the buzzing conversations taking place around him. Though his elvish hearing was more than proficient at picking up the voices and sounds around the room, his mind was dominated by other thoughts. It was true that an envoy of blood elves were making their way to the human capital. At first word, the paladin didn't give it much thought. That was nearly two weeks ago. As the day grew closer that his race would enter the city for the milestone meeting of the merging of forces, the young elf felt both apprehension yet excitement overcome his being. Seeing his own people, regardless of the monotonous and boring political figures that would undoubtly come, would put a sense of comfort in his mind. He also felt confident that at least Lor'themar would be present. Having been raised around the Regent-Lord, the paladin felt a small amount of anticipation at seeing a familiar face. Even if the leader for the blood elves didn't make an appearance, the young elf would gain some sort of comfort from seeing other Sin'dorei; regardless of their time together being short and brief.

* * *

"I've got a meeting tomorrow at 0800. Do you have training?"

Following Warren through the wooded front door to the dwelling, Deimos unthinkingly shut the door with a swing of his hand. Stepping into the foyer of the house he called home, the paladin felt his body slightly relax at the ambiance and environment the abode emitted. Having been given the task of repairing and fixing several elements in the house months ago, the Sin'dorei had taken it upon himself to redecorate and revamp the house in a more fitting fashion. Hiring several hands to speed up the process, Deimos gutted the house out, only to replace the furnishings with those of the blood elves. The arcane chandeliers were nearly identical to those found in his previous home in Silvermoon, the white couches made of the same quality, and the tiled floor constructed of similar material. Unable to replicate the ramp used in Sin'dorei homes, the paladin was forced to keep the wooden stairs untouched.

Dropping his broad sword on the waiting table in the entrance, resting the weapon beside Warren's, Deimos followed the commander up the stairs. "No, not tomorrow."

Pausing for a second at the short response, Warren was unable to determine if the lethargic tone was due to the intake of alcohol or tiredness. The time well past midnight, the commander was aware that the paladin had a trying day; the hazing from the soldiers in the battalion, a day of training, and moving back into the house. Glancing behind himself at Deimos, Warren took in his turned down face and slumped shoulders. "Are you tired or intoxicated?"

Snapping his head up at the question, the young elf felt a grin spread on his fatigued face. "Tired. C'mon, Old School, you've seen me drunk before. You know what to look for."

Shaking his head while he resumed his pace up the stairs towards his chambers, Warren couldn't help but think back to the memory of the Sin'dorei intoxicated. Their rapport was new and unstable; Deimos only recently moving in with the commander. After having a night out with Matheus, his first true meeting with the rogue, the paladin had become intoxicated much to Warren's dismay. The day that followed was less than pleasurable for both of them. "Yes, and unless you've learned how to hold your liquor, let's not repeat that."

Reaching the top of the stairs, Deimos glanced to the sides of him. The hallway housed four doors; three of which he was allowed entry. The far door on the left was Warren's bedroom, and deemed off limits to the paladin. A door in the middle of the hall consisted of the one bathroom the two had to share; much to both of their consternation and discomfort. Two doors at the right end of the hall held the study and Deimos' bedroom. Though the study was reserved for both of them, Warren rarely stepped foot inside the room. Deimos, however, found great satisfaction at having a quiet sanctuary to retreat to when reading.

Moving to the right while Warren mirrored the movement to the left, Deimos paused momentarily at his closed bedroom door. "Is there anything you want done tomorrow?"

The question taking him by surprise, the commander glanced over his shoulder with a shrug. "Not really. I suppose you can take a personal day."

Nodding at the response, Deimos turned the doorknob and entered his bedroom with a slight frown. Taking in his surroundings, the rounded Sin'dorei themed bed and arcane infused lights, the young elf heaved a deep sigh. Though he enjoyed being given the privilege of a day to himself, he was often found at a loss for what to fill his time with. Usually starting with an extended morning meditation, the young elf would wonder around the city, shop in the trade district or visit friends. However, he would be plagued with tedium and monotony before the sun would contemplate setting. More often than not, the paladin would end his personal day in the training grounds.

Pulling his shirt and boots off, carelessly leaving the articles in the middle of the room, the young elf moved to the meager sized closet nestled in the corner. Pushing back the silks that hung in the doorway in Sin'dorei fashion, Deimos retrieved the pair of night pants awaiting him. Leaving the enclosed space, the young elf paused in his actions to glance around the room. Ringing his hands around the netherweave cloth pants in his hands, the young Sin'dorei felt a profound emptiness in his chest. His eyes darting around the stucco walls adorned with golden accents, the purple rug resting over the tiled floor, and the fel crystal sitting the corner of the room, Deimos knew that the characteristics of the room was nearly identical to that of his old bedroom in Silvermoon. It harbored the same dramatic hues and tones of the blood elves, the bed made of same quality. Removing his leather pants only to be replaced with the loose cloth ones, the young elf made his way to the bed.

Pulling the netherweave comforter back, the young elf lay on his back, silently willing the vacant and empty feeling to pass by. Glancing at the window, he felt a deep sigh pass through his lips at the pane of glass that kept the outside world separate from the house. Though the room was decorated to bear resemblance to that of his preceding room, he knew the decorations were only a façade over the chamber. However much he tried, he couldn't will the room to be identical to his in Silvermoon; it simply wasn't. Turning over on his side, the young elf gave into defeat at trying to quell the unfilled feeling in his being. Instead, he would do what he normally did in the situation; give into sleep.

Laying still for several beats, his elvish hearing failed to pick up any noises of movement in the house. Instead, he was responded with stillness and silence. Assuming that Warren had retired to bed immediately, the young paladin felt the empty space in his being increase. Forcing his eyes to shut in a poor effort to induce sleep, he couldn't seem to stop his mind and hearing from straining. However much his senses vainly tried, he knew they wouldn't detect the sounds of movements and a presence in the house that had lulled him to sleep for years.


	2. Chapter 2

**In an act of forgiveness for the tardiness of the story, I've uploaded the first two chapters. An interesting inspiration actually happened while I was playing a round of Warsong in WoW. I was fighting with a hunter who had a pet named 'Deimos'. It gave me a small inspiration to write more. **

**Just a side note - this story contains many mature themes. It's rated accordingly; this story contains no vulgar language or graphic intimacy. Simply mature themes. **

**All words in Italics are in Thalassian. Attempting to learn the language is kind of trying so I'm sorry if any of the grammar is wrong. **

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**

Ducking out of the way of yet another trader's cart, Lena attempted to maneuver her way through the crowded and bustling trade district. The auctioneer's fast paced voice boomed from the auction house, frantic and panicked voices following his comments. Aristocrats and higher class citizens bustled around the shopping area, parcels and packages filling their arms. Merchants and vendors called out their specials to the hoards of people in hopes of getting more commerce to their meager businesses. Quickly side stepping a large man nearly trampling her small form, Lena loathed moving through the crowded and disorganized district; it spelled disaster for a gnome in a human city.

The small mage quickly turned a corner, trying to escape the stampede of human's obviously not watching for her small height. Giving a large sigh, she was tempted to arcane blast her way out of the crowd. It was difficult to maintain her trademark cheerful attitude when her feet were screaming in pain from being stepped on, the sides of her body starting to bruise from being run into by wooden carts. Indeed, the small girl thought as a hunter gave a quick apology as he bumped into her, she needed some sort of beacon or marker showing her location in the throng of people.

Moving toward the canals from the trade district, Lena began to notice a change in the demeanor of the usually rowdy mob. Standing stationary, the humans craned their necks in hopes of seeing a spectacle further up the crowd. The hoard of humans thickened, making Lena's advance forward rather difficult. The loud and usually booming voices of the shoppers and traders was quelled with silent and curious whispers, making the small mage interested in what they were looking at. Being significantly shorter than the race, she knew it would be impossible for her to see what the sight was. Gritting her teeth, the gnome pulled her resting staff from her back. She would get to the front of the crowd one way or another.

Only coming half way up the humans, Lena found it rather easy to squeeze and maneuver her way through the thick crowd of people. She walked in between spread legs, fit along the sides of people, and, if need be, thwacked the backs of the knees of the humans with her long staff; momentarily causing them to lose their balance for enough time for her pass by unscathed. Sighing as she began to see an opening between the throng of legs ahead of her, Lena was satisfied that she had made it to the front of the crowd. Giving one last push, she was rewarded with standing at the front, her mouth hanging slightly agape at the scene.

Walking down the streets lined with interested and curious humans was a parade of blood elves. Nearly forty Sin'dorei, each equipped with a weapon of some sorts, walked with determination in their steps. Their identical unnatural green eyes and tall heights drew the crowd's interest, the throng of humans falling nearly silent in their presence. All of the elves kept their faces and gazes forward, unreadable and blank expression on their features.

Her wide eyes roaming over the elves, Lena wasn't completely alienated with the race. She had become close with Deimos Ares'mar, having saved his life months prior when the Horde raided Stormwind and both being in the same battalion. However, he was the only blood elf she had witnessed; the large group of them was more daunting and intimidating than she expected. Being shorter than half their height, the gnome had to crane her neck up to even glance at their faces. Her hands still gripping her staff, Lena allowed her gaze to fall on a blood elf surrounded on all sides by well armored elves. While he gripped his own weapon and donned plate armor, he kept his head up in such a way that made the air around him seem stiffer. Cocking her head to the side, Lena figured the elf had some sort of superiority in the race.

An abrupt push behind propelled the gnome forward into the street with a surprised cry. Falling painfully to her hands and knees, the small girl felt her staff slip from her grasp and roll even further into the procession of blood elves. She distractedly heard human's furiously whisper behind her, followed by a loud yet short command in a foreign language sounding similar to the tongue of the night elves. Wincing as she felt her scrapped knees begin to bleed, the gnome brought a hand up to brush the messy pink hair out of her face. Surprised, she was greeted with a large hand extended in her line of vision. Craning her neck back, Lena gave a big gulp as the fair face of a blood elf looked down at her; her long staff in hand.

"Are you hurt, little one?" The male blood elf asked calmly as she accepted his outstretched hand, his larger stature pulling her to her feet with surprising gentleness. Glancing behind him, Lena noticed the line of Sin'dorei had stopped their procession, each watching the exchange between the two with as much interest as the humans.

Accepting her long staff from the tall elf, Lena shook her head; her bright smile plastering itself on her face. "I only suffered inconsequential grazes, but thank you for your aid." She paused, watching as the blood elf cocked his head to the side in utter curiosity before thrusting her own hand out. "I'm Lena Bongtock; my father invented the gnomish imploding and self-repairing alarm clock. Welcome to Stormwind City."

Smiling in amazement at the peculiar girl, the elf embraced the girl's significantly smaller hand tenderly. "Halduron Brightwing of Silvermoon City. As the first to welcome us to the city, I thank you on behalf of the Sin'dorei."

Her innate curious nature getting the best of her, Lena felt a hundred questions lining themselves up in her mind as her smile widened. "How long is your stay in Stormwind? Is it for a long or short duration? There are an awful lot of you; I doubt the hospitality of the inn would suffice your numbers. Where are you staying? Did you say Silvermoon City? I believe that's where Deimos said his native city was. Oh! Do you know Deimos? Deimos Ares'mar? He's an acquaintance of mine; well, relatively at least. We're in the same battalion, but he's Sin'dorei so perhaps you do know him."

Chuckling at the gnome's grilling and strange behavior, Brightwing turned to spare a glance at another elf behind him with drawn back blond hair, who shifted his weight from one foot to another; his hardened gaze not leaving the gnomes face. Crouching down to the girl's face, Brightwing smiled at the mage. "I do indeed know Deimos." The elf paused, the smile spreading. "Are all gnomes this… curious?"

"We're a naturally inquisitive race, always seeking to gain intellect on other civilizations; especially those less technologically advanced from our own."

Blinking at the strange girl, the elf felt a presence behind him. "Brightwing, we have to continue on. The king is expecting us."

Stepping up to his feet from his crouched position, the elf eyed the strange girl with a grin; who continued to smile up at him in sheer interest and analyses. "Well, my small friend, it was a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

"Oh, statistically speaking, I highly doubt it with the immense population the city bears," the gnome paused in thought, her voice never faltering from its cheery tone. "Though, the F-distribution would increase significantly taking into account the variable of us both knowing Deimos. I would have to conduct further chi-squared variates but I believe our analysis of variance is more positive with a common interest."

Chuckling at the eccentric girl, Brightwing merely nodded his head in response; not gathering what the gnome rambled on about. Moving back to the procession of blood elves, he gave a quick nod in farewell to Lena, who waved merrily back.

Moving forward through the street, Brightwing glanced at Lor'themar, leader of the Sin'dorei, walking besides him with a grin. "Our first impression of the human city is in the form of the smallest race of Azeroth. Interesting start."

* * *

Standing in the back of the large assembly room, Deimos shifted from one foot to the other nervously. The room was bustling with diplomats, officers, and advisors; conversations buzzing around the large space. The three tiered rows of tables were occupied; chairs and tables littering the floor in a semi circle around an open space. The tables were crammed with officers and other superior ranks of the Alliance wanting to witness the milestone meeting. Shifting as the young elf felt a presence next to him, the paladin turned to glance at Warren's calm face.

"Excited?" The older man asked, his brown eyes roaming the elf's fair face. Word had quickly spread that the procession of blood elves had entered the city walls, making their way to the Keep through the streets of Stormwind.

Shrugging in an attempt down play the adrenaline pumping through his blood at thought of seeing his people, Deimos gave a small grin. "Not really."

"You're a terrible liar."

Rolling his eyes at the warrior, the young elf allowed an excited smile to spread on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Ok, fine, Old School. I'm looking forward to seeing them. I still don't know who's coming though."

His brows coming together in thought, the man leaned up against the wall behind him. The large room was packed with people, the chairs having been taken hours ago, leaving the rest of the observers to stand for the welcoming meeting. "I know Lor'themar and Brightwing are confirmed as attending. I received word that thirty to forty men accompanied them; though I don't know logistics. Sounded like advisors or aids."

Sighing impatiently, Deimos rolled his eyes as he glanced around the room. "I hope the Magister's didn't come. That would make this a lot more difficult."

Squinting his eyes in confusion and curiosity at the comment, Warren was about to question the young elf when a page entered the assembly hall, his pace furious and quickened; a scroll in hand. Not stopping till he entered the open space in the middle of the room, the page cleared his throat dramatically to draw attention to himself. Immediately, the loud and boisterous conversations buzzing around the room died down; the diplomats and king sitting down in their chairs to give the page their attention. Swallowing hard, the young page tilted his head forward in respect to the sovereign observing him with expecting eyes.

"Introducing to my King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, Lor'themar Theron, Regent-Lord of the Sin'dorei, and his elves from Silvermoon City."

Not waiting for a reply that he knew wouldn't come, the young page nervously moved from his spot in the center of the room to disappear through a side door; relieved to be out of the room. Turning his head from where the page used to stand towards the sound of the twin walnut doors opening, Deimos felt his stomach flip in excitement. It had been months since he last laid eyes on fellow blood elves. Though he didn't mind living with the humans and other races of the Alliance, the young elf still missed the familiar faces of his people. He looked forward to speaking with Brightwing about the changes happening in Silvermoon and discussing his progression as a paladin with his new trainer.

Warren cocked his head in interest as the doors opened, a handful of blood elves entering the silent assembly room with blank expressions. Armor was no longer covering their frames; instead fine clothing donned their bodies. The colors of the clothes were reds and blacks, occasionally trimmed with gold. However, each held a weapon either strapped to their backs or resting on their hips. At the front of the elven group was Lor'themar, his long blonde hair pulled up in a half ponytail at the top of his head. His stare was hard, his eyes focused forward. The warrior allowed his gaze to linger on the leader of the Sin'dorei for several beats until his eyes roamed to the familiar figure standing beside him. A grin spreading across his face, Warren eyed Halduron Brightwing, his long blonde hair running down the front of his body. Having fought side by side the elf when they were aligned with the Alliance years ago, the older man had been friends with Brightwing prior to their dissimilation. Though Warren had aged considerably, the elf had not.

The group of elves reached the center of the room, each one tilting their heads forward in respect to the human king watching them with interest. Returning the sign of reverence, Wrynn nodded his head in respect at the Sin'dorei as he eyed the group. "On behalf of my people and the Alliance, I welcome you to my city. I pray your travels were unproblematic."

Sighing at the tedious pleasantries that the two leaders exchanged, each answering in an almost robotic and mechanical way, Warren grinned as he turned to the young elf standing beside him. Expecting to meet the elf's face full of eagerness and excitement, the older man was tremendously surprised to see the exact opposite.

Deimos' face was void of blood, his fair complexion unnaturally white. His breathing was rapid and forced, his jaw clenched tightly shut. Brows together in confusion at the strange behavior from the elf, Warren eyed his face. His expression was of utmost horror and shock; his green eyes swirling with fear and dread. Unblinking, the young elf's stare was locked on a figure standing in the middle of the room. Tearing his eyes away from the paladin, the older man followed Deimos' gaze to the individual he stared intently at. Realization seeping into Warren's mind, the man darted his eyes between Deimos and the figure.

Standing beside Lor'themar was a tall blood elf, his shoulder length blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail away from his face. The elf's frame was broad, his stance intimidating and daunting. A thick sword hung at this hip, the blade glowing azure from an enchantment. Similar to Brightwing, Warren recognized the elf immediately. Tharsis Ares'mar, the older man had fought next to the elf with Brightwing, though they were anything but acquaintances. Tharsis, a warrior himself, was a ruthless and merciless commanding officer; enforcing brutal methods to train his soldiers. The father of Deimos, Warren naturally assumed the two weren't on the best of terms from what he gathered. The young elf had informed Warren that because he was only twenty years old, eighty years short of being considered an adult according to Sin'dorei culture, he was required to live with his father; as he was still seen as an adolescent. However, the paladin was quick to tell the older man that had the age barrier not been instilled, he would have gladly moved out of his father's home.

A cough behind the young elf echoed off the vaulted ceiling, the stoned walls resonating the sound. His eyes still glued to his father, Deimos felt his breath hitch in his throat when similar eyes turned to inspect the noise emitting from his region in the room. His gaze locking with his father's, the young elf watched detection wash over the older Ares'mars' face. Unconsciously sucking in a fast gulp of air, Deimos held the steel gaze with his father as strong as he could; though he knew it was nothing on par with Tharsis. He felt his heart threatening to jump from his chest in anxiety; his father's gaze hardening in a disapproving look at his son, his glare squinting as he scrutinized him. His eyes roaming the young elf's body, Tharsis broke the eye contact to turn his attention back to the discussion at hand.

Sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, Deimos turned nervously to the older man examining him under curious eyes. "I-I need to go outside. I need fresh air."

Shaking his head at the young elf as he swiftly grabbed Deimos' bicep, Warren whispered back to him in an attempt to conceal their voices. "You can't leave, Deimos. It's disrespectful. You'll have to wait till after the meeting."

The elf furiously shook his head, sparing a glance at the group of blood elves continuing discussing the week's scheduled events politely. His father, if he overheard the young elf, didn't allude to it. The temperature felt like he was standing in Hellfire Peninsula, he felt his breaths struggling to fill his lungs; he was on verge of hyperventilating. "I-I'm not feeling well. I need air, Warren."

Giving a silent growl in irritation at the stubborn and immature actions the elf was displaying, the older man was dismayed when the paladin managed to break away from his grasp and begin his way to the walnut doors at the end of the room. "Deimos!"

Not bothering to heed to the whispered call, the young elf continued to weave through the throngs of people. They promptly ignored him, their gazes fastened on the blood elves. Feeling a stare boring into him, Deimos reluctantly turned his eyes towards the opening in the center of the room. Scowling and angry green eyes met his, Tharsis sending a silent scolding to his son through their linked gazes. Instantly, the temperature in the room seemed to heat up significantly. Deimos had naturally assumed his father was still in Northrend, his battalion having been stationed at the front nearly eight months ago; a deployment the young elf was once excited about. He wasn't prepared to meet his father's critical and harsh stare, an underlying meaning behind his gaze. A numbing sensation passed over Deimos' mind, his legs no longer seeming to cooperate with him. Dizziness and nausea seemed to overcome his senses, the warmth in the room becoming unbearable for the young elf. Feeling himself fall forward, he frantically groped the wall in an attempt to right himself.

Watching Deimos begin to collapse forward, Warren turned his brisk walk into a sprint; pushing the standing spectators to the side. The young elf attempted to correct his balance by grabbing onto the wall, only resulting in his fist clutching a corner of a hanging Alliance flag. The large material, unable to support his weight, ripped cleanly through the delicate fabric. The paladin fell to the stoned floor with a loud thud; pulling the attention to the back of the large assembly room where he fainted.

Reaching the downed elf only a beat after he fell, Warren distractedly noticed the conversation between the blood elves and the king had desisted. Instead, gasps and whispers circulated the room at the unexpected interruption. Diplomats and officers stood from their seats at the raised tables to get a better look over the hoards of people, the king even rising from his chair to inspect the disruption. The Sin'dorei turned around; eyeing the older man kneeling beside the young elf. While Brightwing cocked his head to the side in confusion, Tharsis lifted a delicate brow in dismay at his son's dramatic scene; he would have words with the younger elf later. Lor'themar, however, darted his eyes from the collapsed elf to the king's face; curious to see how the sovereign would handle such an emergency.

"Commander Steele!" The King's baritone voice bellowed throughout the assembly hall. "What's happened?"

Slapping Deimos' sweating face in an attempt to rouse him, Warren turned his brown gaze at the sovereign on the other side of the room; elevated on the top tier. "Deimos collapsed. I think he just needs some air." Glancing back down, the warrior was greeted with unnatural green eyes looking up at him, confusion swirling in them.

Nodding, the king obviously unpleased with the interruption, spared a glance at the silent blood elves watching the young elf lay motionless on the ground; it was the last thing he needed to commence the negotiations of a treaty with the race was one of their own dying in his city. The sovereign turned his attention to Warren slowly helping the paladin into a sitting position. "Take him to the Cathedral of Light. Have a priest check him out." Pausing, the king glanced back at the Sin'dorei, their gazes still focused on Deimos; the young elf hanging his head between his bent legs in an effort to stop the dizzy spell. Heaving a strong sigh, Wrynn addressed the assembly hall. "I think we've all had a long day. My friends, please treat Stormwind like your own home. I will have someone show you to your quarters here in the Keep."

Absently aware of a supportive hand on the middle of his back, Deimos felt his breathing correct itself; the feeling of suffocation no longer evident in his body. His pointed ears picked up the sounds of movement around him, he slowly lifted his head to inspect his surroundings. The diplomats and officers had lifted themselves from their seats, the standing spectators moving towards the door to exit the assembly hall. Conversations erupted in the large room, curious glances still being sent over to the sitting elf. Abruptly, Deimos felt firm yet gentle hands grip his biceps, pulling him up slowly to a standing position. Standing on shaky legs, the young elf turned around, curious to see who supported him. Meeting Warren's calm and patient gaze, the elf felt his posture relax considerably.

"C'mon," the older man began, pushing him towards the open walnut doors. "We're about to be trampled by a stampede of people. Let's get you to the priests."

Allowing the warrior to guide him through the doorway, the young elf looked over his left shoulder in an attempt to spare a glance at the blood elves. Unfortunately, the throng of exiting humans limited his view of the inner room; unable to make out any of the elves. He didn't know why his father had accompanied Lor'themar and Brightwing to Stormwind, though frankly, the reasoning behind his presence was of little concern to the young elf. The mere knowledge of his father being in the city caused a shiver to run down his spine; he winced at the thought of the disappointment and lectures that were sure to follow.

Halting their walking when the two were a safe distance from the assembly hall, Deimos turned to a confused Warren; resolution and determination on his face. "Old School, I don't have to go to the priest. I just fainted. The room was too hot and…" looking into the skeptical and disbelieving face Warren was giving him, the young elf sighed. "I'm fine. A priest isn't necessary."

Sighing, Warren glanced around the stoned hallway. The inhabitants that filled the assembly hall only moments before were quickly littering the passageway, their conversations buzzing about the new race that was to be aligned with them. Turning to Deimos, the older man raised an eyebrow. "You're a poor liar, remember? The temperature was fine in there; now tell me what really happened."

"Warren Steele?"

Both the young elf and the warrior whipped their heads in the direction of the voice. Walking towards the two, a bright smile on his face was Halduron Brightwing. His eyes darting between the paladin and warrior, the ranger-general stopped in front of the two; his eyes doing a quick scan over Deimos' body for any injuries. "Working young Ares'mar to utter exhaustion or just a nicely timed ploy to get out of a boring meeting?"

Smirking at the sarcastic yet sincere blood elf, Brightwing was as Warren remembered him. His facial features looked nearly identical to the last time the older man saw him; the years not reflecting on his elven face. "You haven't changed a bit, Brightwing. Though, congratulations on the promotion. Ranger-general of the blood elves; that's quite the accomplishment."

Smiling at his old comrade, the older elf nodded his head in thanks. "I could say the same, Commander." Breaking his attention from the warrior, Brightwing turned to regard the younger elf with another look over. Having helped raised Deimos after his mother died giving birth to him, the ranger-general had assumed an uncle-role to the paladin. Grinning at the boy, Brightwing embraced the shorter elf in a brief hug. "How are you fairing, young one?"

After returning the hug, Deimos broke the embrace with a shrug, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other while he ran an unsteady hand through his short hair. "Alright. I didn't know _Ann'da_ was coming. That was kind of surprising." (**Dad**)

Smirking at the dry comment, Brightwing crossed his arms over his chest while he eyed the young elf with interest. "We'll be leaving in a week, then you can go back to pretending you're a human with Steele."

Cocking his head to the side in surprise at the comment, Deimos lifted surprised brows at the older elf; quickly sparing a glance at Warren's amused face. "I'm not… I miss Silvermoon, don't get me wrong. But-"

Chuckling at the boy's loss of words, the ranger placed a strong hand on the shorter elf. "_Orus, Deimos. Fethuieldu'o." _**(Relax, Deimos. I was joking). **

Rolling his eyes at the older elf, Deimos felt the Thalassian words sooth his anxious mind. Though he was comfortable speaking Common, he still missed the use of his native tongue. On occasion, Warren would speak to the young elf in the language; he was fluent from fighting next to the blood elves years ago. However, the older man disliked speaking it; only using it sparsely.

"I wish I could stay to catch up with you more, but I really must be going." The older elf turned to the amused human, Warren's face holding mirth at the ranger-general. "Warren, I'm assuming there's a decent tavern around here for a drink or two?"

His grin spreading into a smile at the question, the warrior nodded his head. "Old Town; The Pig and Whistle Tavern."

Nodding at the information, Brightwing clasped a hand on the shorter human; a smile on his face. "Then I assume I'll see you there tonight. It was good seeing you, my friend." Turning his gaze to the young elf, he smiled warmly at the paladin, his gaze softening. "_A'doreu ann'da aseful. Ni'memasu."_ (**Don't worry about your father. It'll be fine.**)

Giving one last grin to the pair, the older elf turned away from them; his gaze falling on Lor'themar talking to a draenei diplomat on the other side of the hallway. Sighing to himself, Deimos only wished Brighwing's words held some sort of truth to them. Not having seen his father in eight months, the young paladin was never able to discuss his leaving Silvermoon to relocate to the human city with him. When he returned home to warn his people about the Horde's treason, his father was still fighting the front at Northrend. He had been assigned by the military leaders of Silvermoon to assume responsibility as the ambassador between the Sin'dorei and Alliance; as he already had established rapport and relationships with the faction. Though he knew he couldn't put off facing his father forever, Deimos had hoped he'd be able to live at least a couple years unscathed.

"So you two knew each other during the war?" Deimos asked the warrior, who glanced around the crowded hallway. Indeed, throngs of people filled the space, making their escape from the Keep all the harder.

Turning his brown gaze at the young elf, the warrior grinned as memories began to resurface from years ago. "Yes; we were good friends. Though time has passed, it seems it hasn't changed his personality at all."

"Hiding in the shadows, Deimos? Why does that not surprise me?"

His breath leaving his throat at the deathly calm voice, Deimos felt the blood drain from his face. Glancing up, the young elf was rewarded with seeing an older elf make his way over to the pair, his face calm and placid; though his eyes shone with irritation and rage. Three inches taller than Deimos, the older elf stood at six and a half feet tall, his broad and strong stature not giving evidence to his middle age. The blonde hair drawn back was identical in color to the young paladin's, his green eyes also showing similarity. A sneer on his face, Tharsis Ares'mar stopped in front of his son; Deimos quickly sending his gaze downcast as his father scrutinized him under hard eyes. Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, the young elf refused to meet his father's annoyed glare.

"I'm so glad that such an important meeting got cut short by nothing of significance."

Fastening his green eyes on the stoned floor, Deimos couldn't bring himself to respond to his father's sarcastic and disdainful voice. Keeping his mouth clamped shut, he figured the lecture would go by easier if he simply said nothing.

The satisfied grin on the older elf's face seemed to deepen at the submissive attitude Deimos displayed, his dominance over his son only being reaffirmed. His eyes still boring down into the young elf's face, Tharsis was absently aware of a second presence beside him. Tearing his gaze away from the fearful and compliant expression on Deimos' features, the older elf lifted his brows up in surprise at the human's scowling face.

"Still alive, Warren Steele?"

Gritting his teeth, Warren glared back at Tharsis; his hatred for the elf deepening as the smirk on his face spread. Sparing a quick glance at Deimos, Warren was utterly confused and surprised at the distinct change in behavior the young elf demonstrated. No longer bearing the rebellious and arrogant attitude, the paladin kept his head dutifully down. Cocking his head to the side in rage, Warren watched with disapproval as the older elf seemed to revel in the obedience his son showed him; taking sick pleasure in the fact that he was able to induce such submission from the young elf.

Darting his brown eyes back to the older elf, Warren responded through clenched teeth. "I see you're still the ass you were years ago."

"And you're still the disgusting and filthy human you were." The older elf paused, his amused and darkened glance running over his son's face. Deimos had lifted his head up to observe the altercation between the two older males; his expression still passive and obedient. Reluctantly meeting his father's glance, Deimos immediately regretted it. A cruel smile spread across the older elf's features as he darted his eyes back to the human. "I'm sorry, _Commander_ Steele," the title coming out dramatically stressed, pleasure in his voice, "I don't know where my manners went. I should be thanking you for taking my son in. He's still so young; it's nice to be able to educate him on less-civilized societies."

"How dare you, you-"

"Oh please," Tharsis responded, laughing darkly with a sweeping motion of his hand, "Save your meaningless insults, Steele." Turning examining eyes at Deimos, the older elf was surprised and dismayed to see a defiant look cross his son's face at his verbal offense on the human race; the compliant look no longer prevailing his features. Setting his jaw in purpose, Tharsis smirked sadistically while he roamed his eyes over the young elf's face. "And what do you think, Deimos? Did you learn anything significant from this savage race?"

His green eyes darting between Warren's angered face and his father's deadly calm one, the paladin felt his emotions torn. Conditioning told him what to say to please his domineering father, but morals and honor led his emotions astray. For the first time in his short life, Deimos was unable to answer his father in the obedient fashion he was reared to do. "_Baan, Ann'da. Re'doreu asoesaal._" (**Please, dad. Don't do this.**)

Gritting his teeth in anger at the lack of proper response he received, Tharsis brought his brows together in rage while he got within inches of his young son's face; his voice coming out in a harsh whisper. "What did you say to me?"

His shoulders slumping forward slightly, Deimos gave a small sigh at his lack of insurgency. Tilting his head down in familiar submission, the young elf cast his eyes back to the floor; unable to meet his overbearing father's gaze. "_Ro'o, baon_." (**I'm sorry, sir**)

"Good." The older elf quickly glanced at Warren, who returned the angered and rage filled glare, before turning his scrutinizing eyes back to his son. "I have more pressing matters to attend to, but I expect to see you tomorrow. We'll talk at lengths, understood?"

His gaze still focused downward, the elf nodded silently; shame and disgust at himself crossing over his face. He could feel Warren's disapproving eyes boring into him, the thought of his commanding officer thinking lowly of him caused his skin to crawl in discomfort. Unexpectedly, Deimos felt a firm hand grip his chin, slowly lifting his head up. Allowing his eyes to glance up to meet his father's stern and harsh glare, the young elf longed to shrink away from it; the strong grasp on his chin holding him in place.

Tharsis seemed to take great pleasure in the young elf's fear-filled eyes, his grip tightening on his chin. "Though you may live amongst these humans for now, don't you forget your place, Deimos."

Taking a quick intake of breath, the young elf nodded; his response coming out in a small voice. "Yes, sir."

Dropping his grip from the paladin's face, Tharsis allowed his hard gaze to linger on his son's face before turning away from him; moving to join Lor'themar and Brightwing speaking with diplomats. His cheeks flushing with embarrassment, Deimos didn't have to lift his eyes to know that Warren was regarding him with curious eyes. The only consolation the boy had was that his father would be leaving the city in a week's time.

* * *

"What the hell was that, Deimos?"

Sighing, Deimos stepped into the foyer of the house; mutely noticing the arcane dust trickling down to the floor from the enchanted chandelier. Gritting his teeth in annoyance and humiliation, the younger elf moved to the golden railed stairs, promptly ignoring the man's lingering question. His mind was set on reaching his bedroom; hoping to lock himself away from the outside world and Warren's questioning gaze. Night was fast approaching the human city, the sun already set.

"Are you going to answer me?"

Pursing his lips in anger, the paladin briefly paused in the middle of the stairs. The older man had a firm and angry tone, his voice laced with impatience. Whipping around to face the warrior, Deimos shook his head furiously; his brows up in exasperation. "What do you want me to say, Warren? You have eyes; I'm sure you're smart enough to come to your own conclusions."

Snarling at the sarcastic and incensed response, Warren took a threatening step towards the young elf. "I don't appreciate your tone."

Setting his jaw at the scolding remark, Deimos felt embarrassment burn his fair cheeks. "And I don't like being interrogated."

Cocking his head to the side while crossing his arms over his chest, Warren gave a dry laugh. "Interrogated? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Growling impatiently at the annoying human, Deimos gripped the golden railing harder. "Nothing. I just want to be left alone; that's all."

Narrowing his eyes at the boy, Warren squared his shoulders while he pulled himself up to his full height. If the elf was going to be stubborn and difficult then he would employ a different strategy. "As your commanding officer, I order you to answer me, Deimos." Pausing to take in the green eyes squinting in anger at him, Warren watched Deimos' body tense up. "What happened at the Keep?"

Contemplating his options, the young elf took several deep breaths; his posture aggressive and edgy. Eyeing the firm and serious expression on the older man's face, Deimos let a small sigh escape his lips. He knew his behavior was unfair to Warren; the man had only tried to help him over the months. To displace his anger and disdain on the warrior was unjust. "Look, Old School. I'm just tired. I don't know what you want me to say."

Sighing, Warren ran a hand over his drained face, glancing at the young elf. Leaning against the railing, Deimos had his arms crossed over his chest; defiance and rebellion swirling in his eyes. His face, however, was blank and lost; his expression silently begging the man to let the subject go. Getting the elf to talk was more difficult than he had planned. "Do you always lose your backbone when you talk with your father?"

The abrupt question taking him off guard, the paladin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other; anger and frustration beginning to ebb back into his being. Setting his jaw, Deimos narrowed his eyes at the older man; his blood starting to boil from the question. "Screw you, Warren."

Grunting in frustration, Warren ran up the stairs after the insolent elf as he continued his enraged pace towards his bedroom. "Deimos! I'm not done talking to you!"

"This conversation is over."

Slamming his arm across the doorway to the young elf's chambers, blocking Deimos' path, Warren turned frustrated eyes at the rebellious paladin; only inches away from his face. The elf was slightly taller than the older man, forcing Warren to tilt his head back slightly to hold his stern gaze with the boy. Anger swirled in the green eyes that looked back at him, trying to conceal the embarrassment that was also present. "I should court martial you for your disrespectful attitude."

Swiftly breaking the eye contact with the older man, Deimos felt his cheeks flush with deeper embarrassment. Though he knew he was acting unreasonable to the man, he couldn't help the angered feelings at the questions; he was well aware of the truth behind Warren's accusing voice. Gritting his teeth, the young elf turned back to the man. "Fine. If I'm not allowed to go in my room, I'll leave for some privacy." Abruptly, the paladin turned on his heels, making his way towards stairs.

Watching with stunned eyes at the elf's continued defiant streak, Warren drew his brows together in utter amazement while Deimos took the stairs two at a time. While an outburst from the boy wasn't completely unheard of, the man was taken back by the ferocity of it. "Deimos!"

Reaching the front door, the paladin pulled it open with more vigor than needed; the hinges creaking in protest at being the object of the elf's fury. "Blow me, Warren. You can court martial me when I get back."

Brows up in surprise at the elf's words, the older man was completely speechless. Hearing the wooden door slam shut with a resounding noise, the man shook his head in dismay. Not completely ignorant, Warren had a notion of what was creating the moody emotions from the elf. However, he felt a surge of anger swell in his chest at the idea of one of his soldiers back talking to him in such a disrespectful way. Though, he mutely pondered, he didn't fully view their roles in the argument as officer-soldier.

* * *

Opening and closing his hands into tight fists at his sides, Deimos walked through the cobblestoned streets of the canals. The sun had long set; the full moon illuminating the still water in the center of the city with brilliance. The occasional ripple would disturb the water, the birds resting in the calm canals moving with the change of flow. Burning torches hung on the stoned walls of the city, the flames dancing across the elf's troubled face. The streets were nearly barren, the citizens of the city long retired in their homes for the night. The guards still patrolled the streets, each holding lit lanterns on their belts, determination and purpose in each of their dutiful steps.

Passing by a tunnel leading to the trade district, the young paladin was mutely aware of the quieting voices in the usually bustling district. The auction house had ended the day's mad dealings, though people were surely still complaining about the loss of a much needed item. Traders and merchants were beginning to close up their shops, while other's kept open in hopes of late night shoppers. The only activity that still seemed to be bustling was the sounds of customers in the taverns. Shaking his head in anger, Deimos contemplated entering one in hopes of drowning his worries in a strong alcoholic beverage.

He felt guilty and bad at the thought of the words he exchanged with Warren. The older man had simply been inquiring about his behavior; manners that would seem odd and strange for one not familiar with the elf's demeanor in Silvermoon. It was for that reason he felt more comfortable in Stormwind. Though the city lacked the familiar blood elves, Deimos reveled in the feeling of freedom. He was able to train and develop without the fear of his father's disapproval or dissatisfaction. The young elf had friends he could laugh and joke with; actions which were rarely done under his father's watchful eye. Sighing, the paladin knew once the week was over, the stress and pressure from the older Ares'mar would be gone.

His pointed ears picking up approaching footsteps from behind him, Deimos felt his posture tense. He figured his harsh words would have given the older human a hint that he longed for alone time. Clenching his teeth in anger, the paladin gave a deep sigh; it seemed Warren was determined to make the young elf continue the conversation. Stopping his walking, the paladin listened as the footfalls approached his back, a firm hand landing on his shoulder. Expecting such, the young elf brought his right arm around to grip the person's wrist, twisting it angrily while he turned around to face who he assumed was Warren. Eyes widening in surprise, Deimos felt a trained and impressively fast hand grip his own wrist that held onto his assailants other appendage. A strong thrust from the person caused the paladin to flip backwards; landing hard on his back on the stoned ground.

Swallowing hard and wincing at the pain that erupted from the assault, Deimos looked up into an amused face leaning over his sprawled form. Unnatural green eyes looked down at him, a smirk on the face. "_Mema'dash inar'is._" (**That's a fine hello**)

Wincing again in both pain and humiliation, Deimos gave a sheepish smile back at Brightwing; who extended his hand to the young elf. Gingerly accepting it, the paladin pulled himself upright, sending the older elf an apologetic look. "_Ro, o'neiblu'a anore'meshawy_." (**Sorry, I thought you were someone different**)

Laughing, the ranger-general clasped his hand on Deimos' back in a friendly manner, the two continuing their walk. "Don't worry about it. Though, I can only imagine who you wanted to direct your rage at."

Shrugging at the intended question, the younger elf kept his gaze evenly forward. They were entering the mage quarter; the torches being replaced with arcane lanterns. More activity was heard in the district, arcane students sitting on the groomed grass with school books opened. "It doesn't matter. Is the Keep nice?"

Rolling his eyes at the shorter elf's poor attempt to change the subject, Brightwing gave a motion with his hand to a wooden bench. "It's hospitable. However," pausing to sit on the wooden surface next to Deimos, the older elf offered him an entertained grin, "I hear that you've spent your own time in the Keep."

A grin going across his face, the paladin leaned back against the bench, his arms crossing over his chest. "Yeah, but I hope our stays aren't comparable. I doubt the king has you in a cell."

His eyes roaming the young elf's face, Brightwing chuckled at the comment. "No, indeed he doesn't. I also hear you've had experience in the Stockades."

"Unfortunately. I'm still curious as to why the Horde never destroyed that structure first during raids. Seems the most logical choice; you're most likely to end up in the prison if you get caught."

Taking a deep sigh, the older elf looked down at the grass, his eyes glazing over in thought. "There are a lot of things I disagreed with the Horde about." Pausing, Brightwing squinted his eyes while he carefully chose his next words; his look still inspecting the blades of grass beneath him. "Deimos, while most of the Sin'dorei were happy to dissimilate from the Horde, there are still many wary about joining the humans again. Lor'themar is in agreement to conclude with the negotiations with our race officially part of the faction, but like I said, there are some not certain. Your father is one of them."

Several beats passed, silence replying Brightwing's comment. Looking up from his reverie, the ranger-general lifted his eyes to inspect the silent young elf. Brows together in confusion, he ran his eyes over Deimos' face. The paladin sat, his gaze inspecting something in the distance, with a detached look in his eye. The shorter elf had an interested yet curious expression on his face; not alluding to hearing Brightwing at all. Lifting his brows up slightly in surprise and confusion at the odd behavior, the ranger-general turned on the bench to see what caught Deimos' attention. Smirking, Brightwing easily pinpointed the reason.

Sitting in the grass, her purple robe flowing around her was a high elf with long blonde hair. She had several books opened in front of her, blue glowing eyes full of concentration while she flipped through pages. A long staff sat on the side, the high elf continued with her studies unaware of the stare from the paladin.

Laughing loudly, Brightwing smacked the younger elf on the shoulder in a friendly manner several times, pulling the paladin from his trance to send a confused look at the ranger-general. A knowing and amused smile was spread on the older elf's face while he tilted his head in the direction of the high elf. "You're getting to that age, aren't you?"

Cocking his head in confusion, Deimos scrunched in brows in puzzlement at the older elf. "What age?"

The innocent comment only made the older elf laugh harder. "I'm sure you know about lying with a woman-"

"What?"

"-and I doubt you've ever been with a woman before-"

"-this is really awkward-"

"-but, you shouldn't be with a high elf, Deimos. You're Sin'dorei. And, you're still very young; you have plenty of time to be with a woman later. Now, I'm sure you've looked at many and have even-"

"-shut up, please-"

Pausing in his speech to look at the disgusted younger elf, Brightwing gave a big smile at Deimos. The utter horror etched across his face was enough reassurance that the deed wouldn't be completed for quite some time. Satisfied, the older elf grinned while leaning back against the bench; tilting his head forward at the high elf reading. "Who is she?"

Finding it hard to tear his disgusted gaze away from Brightwing, Deimos quickly glanced at the high elf in the distance. He had known her when he had first come to Stormwind months ago; their relationship had always been in turmoil. High elves and blood elves loathed each other; the high elf had no issue showing her detestation towards the paladin. "Her name's Elsharin. She's a mage trainer… and hates me."

"Good. Keep it that way."

As Deimos opened his mouth to reply, the two elves turned their heads as movement to the left caught their attention. Running towards them was a rogue, his face covered in utmost horror and fear. His cheeks flushed with exhaustion, the human's chest rose and fell as if he ran a couple miles. Jumping to their feet instinctively at the state the man was in, both elves looked around for any indication of an attack; Brightwing's hand falling to his sword on his hip.

"Matheus! What's wrong?" Deimos frantically asked his friend as the human rogue stopped in front of them, leaning his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. Both Sin'dorei leaned in closer, concerned etched on their faces.

"Bet-Betsy!" The rogue was able to heave out between gasping breaths. "She…found… found… me and…Michelle...together. Hu-huge…mess."

Smirking at his friend's predicament, Deimos had to bite his lip to prevent the grin from spreading across his face. Matheus had always been quite polygamous when it came to women, Deimos often scowling at the human's activities. Though the rogue claimed it took finesse and skill to be able to handle such a lifestyle. Obviously, it didn't always work out for the man. "We've…got…got to…go, kid. She'll…be… here soon."

Moving his amused eyes from the panting rogue to Brightwing, Deimos' smirk turned into a smile at the older elf's expression. A brow quirked up in interest, the ranger-general regarded the human with a curious look before turning his amused eyes towards the young elf. "_Eswyl'thali a'shar, Deimos_." (**You have interesting friends, Deimos**)

Rolling his eyes, Deimos chuckled back. "_A'ithbanuor'o roloani_." (**Tell me about it**).

His eyes darting between the two elves, Matheus scrunched his brows together in confusion at the Thalassian words. "Does…does your friend… have… any ideas?"

The young elf nodded, a dark smile spreading across his face as he looked at the confused man. "Yeah, he thinks we should go to the tavern."

The older elf scowled at Deimos. "_O'doreu inar'nimeinlu_." (**I didn't say that**).

Sparing a quick shrug of his shoulders at Brightwing, the paladin turned his attention back to Matheus. "He thinks the Pig and Whistle Tavern would be best. And he even offered to buy us drinks for your troubles."

Pursing his lips in annoyance at the younger elf's ploy, Brightwing lifted his brows up in mocking surprise. "_Tuandothash?"_ He paused, taking in the amused paladin's face. (**Really?**) The ranger-general couldn't help but grin at the entertainment Deimos was getting out of the situation. Brightwing was accustomed to seeing the younger Sin'dorei train with his father; a scowl and angry look on his face throughout the ordeals. Happiness and cheerful spirits from the elf was a breath of fresh air for Brightwing. Sighing, he ran a hand through his long blonde hair. "_A'shaorarlu'o malansu'aral shar._" (**You're lucky I have to go there anyways**)

Grinning at the older elf, Deimos gestured to the still confused Matheus to continue walking out of the mage quarters. Shaking his head as he walked slightly behind the two, Brightwing couldn't help but begin to think stationing Deimos in Stormwind City was the best move they did for the boy.

* * *

"You come here often, Deimos?" Brightwing asked as the three entered the Pig and Whistle Tavern. Like the other taverns around the human city, it was bustling with activity. Older officers and veteran soldiers sat on bar stools; reminiscing about the old Wars and how the days used to be. The dusted and worn floor boards begged to be refinished; the cracked and rough wooden tables showing neglected upkeep. Lighted sconces hung on the walls, illuminating the large area with radiance.

"Every night. Neither me or Warren cook."

Lifting an eyebrow up as the older elf spared a curious glance at the paladin, the ranger-general gave a small chuckle. "_O'mizaeshdu'a doreu'phoishamlu_." (**I'm amazed you're not dead**)

Smirking, Deimos shook his head. "_O'lo_." (**Me too**)

His confused eyes darting between the two elves, Matheus cleared his throat to remind them of his presence. Grinning, Deimos signaled to a table tucked away on the side of the establishment; its vacant seats inviting to the young elf. Moving to follow the paladin, a familiar face on the other side of the tavern caught Brightwing's attention.

"Deimos, Warren's over there," the older elf replied, tilting his head in the direction of the human; sipping a clear glass of brown liquid. "Let's join him."

His green eyes glancing over the older man, the paladin gritted his teeth; he was still fuming from their previous argument. Warren, upon hearing his name, lifted his head from a stack of parchment resting in front of him curiously. Meeting the younger elf's annoyed gaze, the warrior kept his expression blank and unreadable; eyeing Deimos with anticipation. Noticing the odd behavior emitting from the two, Brightwing lifted his brows up curiously. "Is there a problem, Deimos?"

Pursing his lips in irritation as he broke the stare with the man, the young elf eyed the taller elf beside him. "You can go catch up with Warren. Matheus and I will sit over here."

A brow quirking up in surprise as he watched the younger elf lead the still distraught human to the lone table, Brightwing heaved a large sigh. While he was sure there was a story behind the boy's peculiar behavior, the elf doubted he'd get Deimos to admit the reason. Moving towards the waiting human at the table, the Sin'dorei smiled brightly at Warren.

"Lovely establishment."

Shaking his head while laughing as the elf sat next to him, Warren lifted an amused brow. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you? I forgot what you drink so I didn't order you anything."

Shrugging at the human, Brightwing noticed a barmaid making her way over to them. "Doesn't really matter. Though the way the day's going, particularly something strong."

The woman approached the two men with a large and giddy smile, her green eyes not taking their gaze off of Warren. She was in her mid-thirties; a tight skirt around her hips showing off her womanly curves. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun resting on the top of her head, giving evidence to the busy night at the bar. Immediately, Warren straightened his posture, his shoulders rolling back to give off a stronger bearing. Noticing the change in demeanor from his friend, Brightwing smirked at the human.

"What can I get you?" The woman asked, forcefully tearing her lustful look away from Warren to glance at Brightwing.

"Whatever he's drinking is fine."

Nodding at the response, the barmaid sent a quick smile at Warren, who promptly returned it, before turning on her heels to follow through with the order. Unable to rip his gaze from her retreating body, the older man gave a deep sigh. It was no secret that he was courting the younger woman, her name Elly; the two having known each other for years. Only months ago, Warren had taken a bold move in their relationship; spending the night with her.

"So, Warren," the elf began, his amused voice pulling the older man from his love-induced trance. "I take it you never took a wife?"

Gripping the glass in his hands, the warrior spared a quick glance at the Sin'dorei with a shake of his head. "No, I had no time. Though, now I'm slightly regretting it." Pausing to take in the knowing grin on his friends face, Warren took a quick sip out of the lingering bourbon in his glass to hide the embarrassed look. "How about you? Wife or children?"

A deep sigh escaped the elf as he leaned on the wooden table on his elbows, his green eyes focusing on the surface in thought. "No wife. Though," the Sin'dorei paused, bringing his head up to eye the elf and rogue on the other side of the large room; Deimos and Matheus holding their own conversation. "Some days I feel like I have a kid."

Smiling in thanks at the glass of bourbon placed in front of the elf by Elly, Warren watched with interest as she moved over to the table Brightwing was gesturing too. Brows together in confusion and curiosity, the older man leaned forward; cocking his head to the side. "I don't mean to be intrusive, but what is the situation there?"

Lifting confused brows at the man, Brightwing tilted his head in perplexity at the question, wafting the bourbon in the glass before him. "Situation?"

Quickly eyeing the younger elf laughing with Matheus, Warren was careful to keep his voice low as he leaned in closer; a deep sigh coming from his body. "Tharsis and Deimos. We ran into his father in the hall after the assembly." Eyes going downcast as he recalled the elf's behavior during the day's event, the older man gave a small shake of his head in puzzlement. "Deimos seemed very-"

"Obedient? Submissive?"

Lifting his eyes up to inspect the Sin'dorei, Warren was surprised to see a pair of resentful green eyes looking back at him. Shifting uncomfortably at the intense gaze, the older man hesitantly nodded his head. "Exactly."

Swallowing hard, Brightwing ran a hand over his face; a dry laugh coming from his lips. "It's truly not my place to discuss it." Pausing to take in the warrior's face fall slightly, the ranger-general gave a small sigh. "What I can tell you is that his compliant behavior is from years of… intense conditioning."

"Conditioning? How so?"

Shaking his head at the ignorance Warren was demonstrating, the ranger-general directed his attention at the half filled glass of bourbon on the table. Swirling the liquid around, he only wished he asked for something stronger. "We both fought next to Tharsis. You know his brutal methods. Let's just say his parenting-style is in the same fashion."

Realization dawning into the man at the elf's words, Warren sent a quick glance at the paladin, who sipped wine from a goblet placed in front of him. "And you helped raise Deimos?"

Snorting at the question, Brightwing shook his head as he leaned back against the wooden chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Helped who raise him? Tharsis? He hardly wanted anything to do with the boy since he was born; I was the one that convinced him not to send him to the Shattrath orphanage. He only became interested in Deimos once he was old enough to hold a sword."

Eyeing the elf in front of him with confusion, the man shook his head. "Weren't you and Tharsis friends during the war?"

Rolling his eyes, Brightwing downed the rest of the brown liquid in the glass resting in front of him, a darkened look crossing over his eyes. "Yeah, well, our relationship got a little strained when his elfling was running away to my house because he beat him for dropping his sword or failing a drill."

Eyeing the younger elf at the other table for a second before turning back to Brightwing, Warren gave a small sigh. "If Tharsis is unfit to be a parent, why doesn't your government remove Deimos from his care?"

Sighing at the naïve question, the older elf leaned forward, instinctively careful to keep his voice low. "The Magisters don't give a shit about things like that. They'll enforce ancient laws that make no sense and feed lies to the citizens but when it comes to the well-being of an elfling, it's not their problems."

Biting his lower lip, Warren eyed the irritated look on Brightwing's face. It was painfully obvious that the ranger-general wasn't the least bit pleased with the subject of the conversation; his eyes glazed over with passive anger and fury. "So how do you help then?"

With a deep sigh, the Sin'dorei leaned back against his chair, a small smile going across his face. "I assigned him to Stormwind City, didn't I?"

Movement to the side of the table caused the two older men to turn their heads to inspect the new presence. Standing sheepishly with arms crossed over his chest, Deimos shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other while eyeing Warren. A shameful and embarrassed blush reached his fair cheeks as he nervously chewed his bottom lip. "Old School, I want to apologize for my… attitude earlier."

The warrior felt his brows shoot up to the ceiling in surprise, a small grin going across his face. Eyeing the young elf, the warrior found himself looking over Deimos in a different light; trying to digest the new found information from Brightwing. "An apology from you? This is new."

The sarcastic words only seemed to make the uncomfortable elf more on edge, his eyes darting to Brightwing for some sort of assistance. The older elf just stared back; face blank and expressionless. Setting his jaw at the lack of aid from his friend, the younger elf turned back towards the older man, trying with all his self-reserve to keep the cocky and arrogant look off his face. "I'm…tired and stressed."

"Are you apologizing or making excuses for your disrespectful behavior?"

Pursing his lips to conceal the smart retort that threatened to come out, Deimos had to remind himself it was still his commanding officer he was talking to. However, glancing over Warren's mixed emotional face, the young elf was curious as to the change in the man's demeanor. Eye's no longer flaring with anger or irritation at the elf, the warrior's gaze was an assortment of inquisitiveness and examination. "I'm not making any excuses, Old School. I just…" the paladin paused, his eyes glancing over at Brightwing; who continued to watch the flustered elf with a passive look. "I just need my space sometimes, alright? But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

Cocking his head to side, Warren gave a small smile. "How long did you have to practice saying that?"

Rolling his green eyes, Deimos uncrossed his arms while he gave a sigh. "A couple times. Was it really that bad?"

Smirking, the older man allowed his gaze to linger on the younger elf for several beats. From what he gathered and learned from living with Deimos for more than half a year, the young elf was relatively well-behaved. He was arrogant, brash, and cocky; however, the older man expected nothing less from a boy his age. Though the man never fathered any children of his own, the thought of a parent needlessly raising their hand to a child made his blood boil. Patting an opening at the wooden table, Warren's grin progressed into a wide smile on his face. "Take a seat with us. Tell Matheus to come on over too. Drinks are on me."

Motioning with his head to the rogue watching the group from his lone location, Deimos pulled the rickety chair out from the table. "Good because I was using your money anyways."

Heaving a deep sigh at the young elf, Warren gestured to Elly for another round of drinks for the table. It wasn't hard to obtain the barmaids attention; her green brilliant eyes fastened on the warrior in admiration. Seeing his request, she promptly began to fulfill it with joy of being able to approach the older man.

Watching as Matheus plopped himself down at the table dramatically, Warren gave him an amused look. "Bad night?"

"The worst."

Grinning ear to ear at the miserable look on the rogue's face, Deimos turned humorous eyes at Warren. "Becky-"

"Betsy."

"-found him and Marcy-"

"Michelle."

"-together. I guess it's a big mess now."

Laughing while shaking his head at the younger man's predicament, the warrior turned amused brown eyes to meet Brightwings'; who only shook his head in return. "Oh to be young again, huh, Warren?"

"Here you are," a female voice sounded, a long elegant arm placing the requested beverages on the wooden surface. Nearly spilling Matheus' mead down his front, Elly kept her longing gaze locked with Warren's; completely missing the unbelievable look the rogue gave her. Smiling lovingly at the older man, the barmaid nervously fingered the bottom of her white blouse. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"I can think of a few things Warren would like."

Promptly backhanding the snickering young elf at the obscene comment, the older man kept his yearning and soft gaze held with the woman; giving her a wide smile. "I think this is good. Thank you, Elly."

Sipping the brown liquid in his glass, Brightwing watched with interest as his human friend kept his desiring gaze glued to her leaving form. Shaking his head, the Sin'dorei turned his green eyes to inspect the younger elf to the side of him. Lifting a delicate brow, he stretched a hand out to grab the wine glass out of the paladin's grasp, who was preparing to sip the liquid out of the goblet.

Brows together, Deimos regarded Brightwing with a confused look while the older elf inspected the liquid in the glass. "If you wanted to try it you could have asked, you know."

Placing the goblet down next to his own glass of bourbon, the older elf sent an amused look at Warren; completely disregarding the paladin's comment. Warren, also rather perplexed by the Sin'dorei's odd behavior, cocked his head to the side in confusion. Sparing a quick glance at Deimos' annoyed face, Brightwing gestured to the wine-filled goblet. "You know he's not technically old enough to drink alcohol, right?"

Brows shooting up in surprise at the information, the older man chuckled as a memory surfaced from months prior. "Yeah, we noticed when he passed out in a drunken stupor by the Keep."

"Light…"

Smiling deeply at the aggravated and annoyed younger elf's face, Brightwing gave a small laugh. "I suppose the laws here are different, though."

"Yeah so can I please have my drink back?"

Smirking at the impatient tone in the paladin's voice, the older elf gingerly pushed the filled glass closer to Deimos; who greedily grabbed it. Sipping the liquid, the younger elf whispered under his breath. "This week I'll need it the most…"

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much to everyone who's read the story. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, this story has a bit of a dark side to it. This chapter involves several mature themes - namely violence. It's not any more elevated than my first story, but I just want to give everyone a heads up.**

**Words in Italics are in Thalassian. **

**Thanks for reading!**

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* * *

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"Why can't I wear armor?"

"Because."

"Can I at least wear a shirt?"

"No."

Gritting his teeth, Deimos stood motionless in the training grounds, his vision completely voided black. Barefoot and shirtless, the young elf felt shivers beginning to rack his body as the late fall wind swept through the city. Though he couldn't see it, the paladin knew the sun was half across the sky; indicating to the beginning of the afternoon in Stormwind. Sighing as the black cloth around his eyes was tightened once more, Deimos shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"And why can't I wear my boots?"

Scowling at the constant questions coming from the boy, Grayson Shadowbreaker moved from behind the elf; satisfied that the blindfold around his pupil's eyes was secure. The new exercise for the young elf was one which he took great pride in utilizing on his student; knowing that the Sin'dorei would have a significant advantage for such a drill. "The point of this exercise, Deimos, is to become more aware of your other senses. That includes hearing, smelling, and touch."

"What about taste?"

Pursing his lips and scowling at the sarcastic comment from the young Sin'dorei, the paladin trainer and commander eyed the blood elf standing in the middle of the practice area. His shoulders were drawn back, his arms crossed over his bare chest. Bumps could be seen forming on his fair arms; the evidence of the frigid afternoon. Placing the elf's broad sword to the side, the older man pulled his own weapon out of its sheathe. "I want you to rely on your other senses, Deimos. You're an elf; so you ought to have an advantage in this drill."

"And I don't get a weapon either?"

"You're still missing the point." The man paused, his patient gaze on the unseeing elf never faltering. "And no, you get no weapon."

Sighing impatiently, Deimos had to keep reminding himself to not remove the uncomfortable blindfold impairing his vision. In all honesty, the young elf found the idea for the exercise to be null and illogical; he knew his senses were particularly gifted. The pointless drill would only be wasting time out of his precious training schedule; time that could have been better used. Smirking, the elf had full confidence in his ability to pass the drill with pomp.

Abruptly, the young paladin briefly heard the exchange of air behind him before he felt sharpened steel cleanly slice the delicate skin on his back open. Hissing in pain, Deimos had to force his hurting body to comply with his commands and throw himself to the side. The wound, though not fatal quite yet, was deep enough in the boy's back to lead to shock from blood loss. Panting heavily from the injury, the young elf daftly brought a hand around to his back to grip the throbbing area. Warm liquid spilled over his hand as he lay motionless on the ground. Unexpectedly, the Sin'dorei felt his stomach flip warningly. Relying on instincts, Deimos rolled to the left, his back injury protesting at the movement, as he heard a sword come into contact with the stoned ground.

Rolling up to his feet with shaky balance, the young elf clenched his teeth at the burning sensation that was enveloping his back. However, he knew he couldn't pay it much heed. Using skills that he developed from a lifetime of meditating, the young elf focused more attentional allocation to his less used senses. Immediately, his hearing was amplified; the sounds of the bustling city bombarding his head. Wincing at the increase in noise level, Deimos heard the nearly inaudible swoosh of a sword originating from his right. Expertly dodging to his left, the young elf winced harder as the skin around the wound was pulled taunt; blood flowing more freely from the lesion.

"You better heal that if you don't want to end up at the priests'."

The paladin trainer's voice echoed in the young elf's mind, pulling him from his pseudo-trance. Barely jumping back when his stomach felt a tiny whoosh of air, Deimos gritted his teeth at the truth behind Shadowbreakers' words. Continuing to keep his attention directed at his heightened senses, the elf began to murmur the enchanted words to Holy Light. Hearing movement emitting from his side, the elf was quick to dodge the swing of a sword; his chanting never wavering. Increasing the speed at which he was mouthing the spell, Deimos felt the smallest gust of air from behind him; alluding to his opponent trying to strike from behind. The last bit of chant leaving his mouth, Deimos distractedly noticed the wound mend itself; the bleeding and pain abruptly stopping. Whipping around to face his foe, the young elf sent a fast and strong kick in the direction he felt Shadowbreaker was. Painfully, his bare foot came into contact with a plated chest; though his aim was true, he hadn't thought the attack out well.

A hand gripped his ankle, taking advantage of the elf's momentary stunned reverie. Twisting the appendage painfully, Deimos' foe flipped him to the stoned ground with a hard smack. Grunting in pain as his back made contact with the ground, the elf heard the heavy breathing of his opponent swiftly approach him. Rolling to the side, out of a blades swinging motion, Deimos pulled himself to his feet as his pointed ears heard the weapon make contact with the stone.

Ducking under another well aimed thrust, Deimos kept up the impressive dodges with ease. He had a feeling that the paladin trainer wasn't charging him at full speed; obviously careful to not bring drastic harm to his student. The battle raged for several minutes; Deimos not faltering from evading the attacks. He began to find the exercise fun and enjoyable; a drill of defense without a weapon was one he wasn't all that familiar with. Grinning as he yet again dodged a downward slice from a blade, Deimos was surprised when he heard the movement from the trainer end.

His senses still heightened as he stood on the balls of his feet, prepared to dodge an attack on either side of his body; Deimos lifted a confused brow. The respiration from his opponent had gone silent; alluding to the proximity between the two increasing. Curiously wondering if the drill was over and if he passed with honor, Deimos considered taking off the blindfold. Panting as he futilely looked around himself, the young elf wiped the back of his hand over his sweating face; his blonde hair plastered to his forehead. "Shadowbreaker, are we done?"

Briefly feeling the small rush of air from the familiar sensation of a blade coming towards him, Deimos hardly jumped out of his opponent's path in time. A fast thrust of a sword immediately followed the attack, not allowing Deimos any time to gather his thoughts. Throwing himself to the side painfully, the young elf was sure to remain focused on his senses. Curiously, he was surprised to hear a distinct difference in his opponent's respiration from before the break; it was calmer and shallower. Rolling to the side to dodge a fast and strong swing of a blade, the young elf presumed Shadowbreaker had cast some sort of a healing spell to renew his vigor. Shaking his head at his disadvantage, Deimos only wished he would have been given the same reprise.

Taken off guard when his opponent pivoted with impressive speed to attack the back of the young elf's body, Deimos winced at the pain he knew would come. While he uselessly tried to fall forward in an attempt to dodge the blow, he knew it would be hopeless. Feeling the cold steel of a sword enter his shoulder blade, Deimos gave a loud scream of pain as the sword ravished the bone and muscle. His opponent pulled the weapon across the young elf's back, the steel ripping the muscle from the ribs. The assault finished its brutal attack with tearing the other shoulder blade apart. Falling forward to the ground on his knees, the young elf felt as if his back was ripped in two; hot blood spewing from the deep wound. His stomach flipped; threatening to empty its contents on the stoned ground.

Not being able to dwell on the numbing pain and nausea, Deimos threw his body to the side as he heard the cruel blade whip through the air towards his midsection. Landing hard on the stone, the young elf felt his mind beginning to swirl at the throbbing sting on his back. His momentary lapse in action was enough time for his foe to continue his ruthless assault. Bringing his arms up instinctively around his bare chest for protection, Deimos felt the blade easily slice through his bicep; not stopping till it made vibrating contact with the bone. Unable to stop the blood curdling scream that emitted itself from his throat, the young elf decided that enough was enough. Shadowbreaker had gone too far.

Upon feeling the blade leave his arm, Deimos gritted his teeth in preparation for his attack. Rolling to his feet, the young paladin furiously whispered the small chant to release a powerful onslaught of holy energy; placing as much focus on the attack as possible. Just as the last words were about to fall from his lips, a hard plated object whipped across his forehead; causing him to fall to the ground with a pained moan. Feeling the blindfold begin to cling to his face, Deimos knew it wasn't from sweat. _That felt like a shield. But, Shadowbreaker wasn't carrying one…_ Unable to stop himself, Deimos ripped the blindfold off his face. The bright sun was the first thing that hit him; making him squint up at his opponent. Similar unnatural green eyes looking down at him was the next.

Standing over the young elf's prone and bleeding body was Tharsis Ares'mar, a thick sword gripped in his hand. Though the blade shone blue with an enchantment, the dripping blood running down the steel was still visible. His disapproving and scowling eyes roamed over Deimos' surprised and fearful face; his frown slowly turning into a dark grin. Moving away from the young elf propped up on his unhurt arm, Tharsis turned to the paladin trainer; who stood to the side with a passive look on his face. "Sorry, Shadowbreaker. It seems my son isn't as well trained as I thought he was."

Shaking his head slightly, the older man approached the two elves, his eyes staying trained on Deimos' face. The boy was panting heavily with his eyes downcast in a defeated and shameful manner; sweat from pain and exhaustion covered his body, blood from his head wound mixing in with it. His arm was bleeding heavily, curled instinctively to his chest painfully. Though he couldn't see it, the paladin trainer knew the boy's back was smeared with the same liquid, the bone and muscle from his shoulder blades severed agonizingly. "You seem to miss the point of the exercise as much as your son, Commander Ares'mar."

Watching with dissatisfaction as Shadowbreaker calmly and serenely crouched next to the younger elf to inspect his back wound, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest. "He failed to dodge an attack. I would constitute that as not passing the drill."

Moving to examine the head wound, the paladin trainer gently turned Deimos' head to the side to get a better look at it; attempting to determine if the healing would require the aid of a priest. Gingerly probing the gaping injury, Shadowbreaker glanced down to meet the young elf's grateful eyes. Though they only had a brief exchange, the commander was quick to pick up on Deimos' thankful feelings. Turning around to gaze at the older elf, the man gave a small sigh, standing up to his feet. His calm and tranquil expression never faltered from his face. "The objective is to concentrate on defense and evasion. He was more than proficient with that; until you forced him on offense."

"He required a challenge."

"I think I have enough years of experience to know what _my_ students need."

Gritting his teeth in anger at the human in front of him, Tharsis took a threatening step forward; his hand gripping the sword tighter. "Perhaps you forget that _I_ was instructing him before you took over as his trainer all of six months ago."

Brows raised in amusement at the aggressive stance the older elf assumed, Shadowbreaker's peaceful expression never fell. Turning back to the young elf, the paladin trainer watched as Deimos kept his head dutifully tilted forward; his hand wrapped around his aching bicep. "Yes, well, it speaks volumes that a _warrior_ attempted to train a _paladin_."

Snarling at the man in anger, Tharsis narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me-"

Turning around to spare an innocent glance at the older Ares'mar, Shadowbreaker crouched next to Deimos. "I'm sorry, I'm going to need silence to heal your son; that is, unless you'd like to carry him to the Cathedral of Light."

Pursing his lips in anger at the paladin trainer, the older elf wiped his son's blood from his blade before placing it in its sheathe on his hip. Crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, Tharsis turned his head angrily away from the human and his son.

Satisfied at the lack of response, Shadowbreaker turned around to face Deimos, who met his gaze imploringly. Allowing the trademark calm façade to fall from his features, the paladin trainer gave an amused grin at his student at his small victory against the older elf. Returning the expression with a small smile, Deimos felt his stomach flip from the pulsing pain. Eyeing the wincing younger elf, Shadowbreaker sighed. "Do you have any injuries other than your back, forehead, and arm?"

Shaking his head, Deimos immediately regretted it. The world began to tilt, the head wound making his world delve into complete vertigo. Distractedly, he was aware of soft words beside him; hands supporting him gently on the top of his shoulders. Suddenly, the world began to right itself, the unbearable pain from the wounds abruptly disappearing. He was somewhat attentive of the muscles restoring themselves, the bones repairing the damage done. Feeling his energy and strength renewed, the young elf looked up into the tranquil face of Shadowbreaker. "Better?"

Nodding, Deimos moved to pull himself up to his feet; his eyes making contact with his father's gaze. The cold wind blowing around his bare upper torso, the young elf immediately broke the eye contact to search around the training area for his forgotten shirt. He knew he wouldn't find his boots; Shadowbreaker had instructed the elf to leave them at his house for the day. Giving a large sigh, the young paladin whipped around in a circle, frustrated at not finding his article of clothing; wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to retain body heat.

"Looking for this?"

Hesitantly glancing at Tharsis, Deimos sighed as the older elf held his blue shirt up in his fist. Noticing the paladin trainer standing on the side watching the exchange, the young elf approached his father; an outreached arm extended for the shirt. His opened palm not feeling the cloth placed in it, Deimos lifted curious eyes at his father, who didn't move his clenched fist to give up the clothing. Swallowing hard at the scrutinizing eyes, the younger elf shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Can I have it please? I'm cold."

Squinting his eyes at his son, Tharsis broke his eye contact to look at the crumpled up shirt in his fist. Inspecting the plain shirt dramatically, the older elf returned his hard gaze back to his son. "Blue. Interesting color to choose… especially for being Sin'dorei."

Increasing his fidgeting, Deimos pursed his lips at the unspoken insult. Blinking hard at his father, the shorter elf felt a blush creep into his cheeks. "It's just a color. Can I have my shirt now?"

"Remember what I said yesterday, Deimos. Just because you live with these human's doesn't make you one of them. Don't forget who and what you are."

Thankful at the article of clothing placed in his outstretched hand, Deimos turned his back on his father while he slipped the shirt on over his head. Sighing, the young elf couldn't stop the sarcastic remark under his breath. "Don't worry, I won't. You make damn well sure of that."

Seeing red from anger at the rebellious comment from his son, Tharsis took an aggressive step towards the younger elf. "Care to repeat that a little louder, Deimos?"

Immediately sensing an upcoming altercation between the two elves, Shadowbreaker stepped forward; Deimos' sword in his outstretched hands. "Here, Deimos. Don't forget what I told to you about proper care for your weapons."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tharsis squinted in anger at the man, obviously displeased at the interruption from his lecture. "My son knows how to care for his swords. I've taught him as much."

Smiling condescendingly at the older elf, the paladin trainer nodded his head at the comment. "Yes, I'm sure you have. However, it would be irresponsible of me to assume he's doing it the _correct_ way."

His hard gaze narrowing at the man, Tharsis abruptly turned to this son. "_O'dorarfiil'a doreu'falbein_." (**I don't like your trainer**)

Shrugging lightly at the older elf's comment, Deimos glanced at Shadowbreaker's confused face from the foreign language. "_Ro, O'aseosaal_." (**Sorry, I do**)

Pursing his lips at the response, Tharsis turned briskly to the waiting human. "Are you finished my with son for the day, _trainer_?" The last word coming out strangled and demeaning, the man didn't flinch at the insult.

Nodding calmly at the two elves, Shadowbreaker turned his gaze to the younger elf, taking in his green eyes pleading with the trainer to not antagonize the older elf further. Smiling warmly at his student, the paladin trainer placed a firm yet gentle hand on the young elf's shoulder. "You did very well today; considering it was your first day of the drill. We'll work on progressing yourself to falling more easily into an offensive position." Glancing over at the older elf's scowl and annoyed expression, Shadowbreaker widened his smile. "I'll also teach you a good rebound for the shield interruption."

Smiling back at the older man, Deimos felt gratitude swell in his chest; not just for the compliments but the untold intentions behind his words. "Thank you, sir. I very much look forward to learning it."

Sending one last victorious glance at Tharsis, who clenched his jaw in anger at the trainer's words, Shadowbreaker turned away from the two; moving towards the Commander Center.

Feeling eyes boring into him, Deimos reluctantly glanced to the side at the taller elf. Sure enough, unnatural green eyes met his, their disapproving and angered look stabbing into the younger elf. Immediately sending his eyes down to the floor, Deimos felt all the pent up confidence in his being somehow dissipate from him. Instead, a familiar cold and numb feeling passed over his body.

"Training barefoot? Didn't I tell you this was a savage race?"

Not sure if he should respond to the jab, Deimos allowed his father to direct him forward with a thrust on his back, out of the training grounds. Sighing at the silence that followed, the younger elf assumed his father was waiting for some sort of an answer. "They're not savages. Just different."

Brows raised in annoyance at the comment, Tharsis eyed the shorter elf beside him as they moved through Old Town. The afternoon caused the streets to be bustling with activity, children chasing each other while mothers stood by scolding them. "You've been in this city for too long, Deimos. It's starting to affect you; and I don't approve of the change."

_Of course not._ Careful to turn his head while he rolled his eyes, Deimos was smart to hold back the sarcastic retort. Abruptly, he felt pain erupt in his left ear as a tugging sensation enveloped it. Turning questioning eyes at his father, the young elf found his head's mobility limited from the pulling motion.

"You still have this?" Tharsis asked with a sadistic smirk, jerking painfully on the golden hoop resting in the younger elf's ear. Instinctively moving his hand up to twist the wrist assaulting his ear, Deimos immediately regretted his reflexive nature. A second hand wrapped itself around his own wrist while propelling the elf backwards. Slammed against the stoned wall of a house, the young elf blinked furiously to clear the water that pooled in his eyes from the unexpected attack. The hand still gripping his earring, Deimos tilted his head down in an effort to ease the pain.

Tharsis, angered at the elf's defensive and resistant attitude, pulled the piece of jewelry threateningly. "How dare you disrespect me so? You stand up for these barbaric creatures and lay your hands on me?"

Swallowing hard, Deimos eyed his father's angered face. His own face wincing in pain from the increased pressure on the earring, the young elf narrowed his gaze. Honor and principle seemed to dominate his line of thoughts, his words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "From what I'm seeing, they're not the barbaric race."

Snarling in anger at the disobedience and defiant attitude from his son, Tharsis gave a quick yet strong jerk down with his arm; the earring never leaving his fisted hand. Immediately, a cry of pain was emitted from the smaller elf. Stepping back, Tharsis angrily eyed the boy as he curled down, his hand gripping the bleeding and ripped ear lobe; the golden earring still clenched in the older elf's hand. "I never liked that piercing anyways."

Glaring up at his father, Deimos began to chant a healing spell, his hand still wrapped around the throbbing and bleeding ear. He didn't have to hear the comment from his father to know that it was true. He had obtained the piercing nearly two years ago, his father expressing his negative feelings towards such a meaningless and futile action. Wanting to have a small say in something in his dominated life, the young elf was quick to have his ear pierced.

Satisfied when he felt the precious cartilage mend itself back together, Deimos stood back up. He knew he would have to find someone to pierce the ear again for him; he wouldn't be able to do it himself. Sighing at the still angry look on his father's face, the younger elf shamefully looked down at the stoned ground; allowing his compliant and obedient behaviors take over his being. "I'm sorry. I-I don't know what's wrong with me."

Giving a dark smirk at the boy's familiar and recognizable submission, Tharsis knew the elf would simply need reminding to revert back to his conditioned self. Sighing, the older elf laid a hand on the elf's upper arm to motion him to continue walking. "You're around these humans too much, Deimos. You're getting sloppy with your practicing and neglecting your proper training."

Keeping his gaze focused down at the cobblestoned street, the younger elf wasn't sure what to say. He felt he was flourishing under his new living conditions; true, the humans in the barracks didn't necessarily accept him. However, for once in his life, he felt at ease with himself. He had friends and he was beginning to feel like a real paladin. A strong hand on his arm halted his walking, the younger elf turning questioning eyes at his father.

"Deimos," the older man began, placing both his hands on the shorter elf's shoulders. The older Ares'mar was determined to force his son to conform back to his old behaviorisms; one way or another. "You know I'm proud of you for saving Lor'themar, right?"

Watching with sick pleasure as the younger elf's eyes shined with surprise and happiness, Tharsis had to use all his self-reserve to not grin at the one weakness his son displayed; his dying need for his father's approval. "You were doing so well in the past couple years. I'd hate to see this little move to Stormwind hurt your progress."

Nodding his head furiously, Deimos set his eyes in determination. "Don't worry, _Ann'da._ I won't disappoint you."

Smiling darkly, the older elf motioned for his son to continue their walking. Sending a sideway glance at the shorter elf, Tharsis inspected the blank and expressionless look on Deimos' face. Whether it needed to be emotional or physical conditioning, the older elf was determined to shape the paladin in any way he chose.

* * *

"You're positive you know what you're doing?"

"It's a relatively effortless and painless procedure, Deimos. There… _should_ be no quandaries."

"You hesitated. Why did you hesitate?"

Biting her lower lip, Lena rolled back on her heels from inspecting the blood elf's ear. Sitting cross legged on the gnome's miniature bed, Deimos looked grossly out of place; his sitting form easily taking up the entire width of the bed. The paladin had approached the small girl nearly an hour ago; asking an odd request of the gnome. Her own ears riddled with hoops and studs, the girl felt herself confident in her ability to pierce another. It was considered attractive in the gnomish society for a female to have jewelry in their ears, though men were looked at differently. Her inquisitive nature taking over, she found the idea of Deimos wanting his ear pierced rather abnormal. She immediately agreed to help her friend; hoping to gain a better understanding of the foreign race.

Looking around Lena's bedroom, Deimos gave a nervous sigh while her small fingers inspected his left ear lobe. The bed rested against the middle of the wall, its bright purple comforter matching the white and pink painted walls. A large inviting window took up a good portion of the opposite wall; the waning afternoon sun spilling into the room and its inhabitants. A desk and chair was nestled in the corner; its small stature making Deimos cock his head to the side in amazement. He still struggled to grasp the strange behaviors of the small race; though he always enjoyed the gnome's cheerful company.

A prick to his cartilage caused the young elf to jump instinctively; his arms flailing around himself in surprise. Lena was agile enough to avoid the larger appendages, knowing full well that one swipe of his thick arm would have her plastered against the wall. Glancing nervously at the hoop earring the girl held up in her small hand, Deimos ran a nervous hand through his short hair; a small sigh escaping his mouth. "I'm sorry, Lena. I just… you're _sure_ you know how to do this?"

Nodding her head furiously, the gnome hesitantly leaned forward towards the tall elf. Standing up to get a better view of his ear, Lena scrunched her brows in thought as she allowed her fingers to probe the cartilage on the lower ear lobe. With a thought, the mage moved her examining fingers to the upper portion of the ear; the tips of her fingers grazing over the delicate point. "You know, you should consider a helix piercing instead of a vertical lobe. If you're obtaining the piercing for purely aesthetic purposes, I believe it would be a more suitable choice for you."

Tensing his posture as Lena fingered a section of cartilage just an inch below from where his ear pointed, Deimos bit his lip nervously. "Maybe we should just stick with the basics. I'm not sure…"

"The hazard for infection is as heightened as the alternative piercing. However, you may be more prone to keloid formation at the posterior surface of your ear; though I'm 97.99% confident that lavender oil would significantly reduce the probability of a contagion."

"Look, I have no idea what you just said, or if it was even in Common, but I'm thinking the lobe piercing would be best." Shifting nervously while Lena increased her pressure on the selected area of his upper ear, Deimos bit his lower lip harder.

"If you're vexed by the prospect of increased discomfort, I can inform you from personal experience that there's not a significant difference. In fact, I'd even say the piercing process is less agonizing than the vertical lobe. Though the recovery process is protracted; especially when sleeping. However, I still strongly-"

"The top of his ear is considered one of the most sensitive parts of his body. He's naturally hesitant."

Both the gnome and elf turned their heads towards the doorway at the new voice. Entering the brightly lit room with her arms resting softly to her sides was Elsharin; her blue glowing eyes meeting Deimos' unnatural green ones. Upon becoming the mage trainer's apprentice, Lena had moved in with the high elf in the mage quarter. The two women shared the house; Lena was unaware Elsharin had returned back to the dwelling after a meeting she was attending.

"That's rather peculiar."

Shifting uncomfortably as the high elf sat close to him on the bed, Deimos narrowed his eyes at her as she turned to Lena. Opening a fair hand towards the gnome at an unspoken request, the Sin'dorei watched with dissatisfaction as Lena dropped the golden earring into her trainer's outstretched hand. The high elf turned back to the waiting and agitated paladin, her somber expression never faltering. Her long fingers probing the upper area Lena was contemplating piercing, Elsharin watched Deimos' face tense at the prodding.

"Elves don't usually pierce the upper cartilage for this reason, Lena." Pausing while she brought the sharp back of the earring up to the sensitive and receptive area of his ear, she gave a small smile at the boy hesitantly watching her. "Though if you are going to pierce it, you have to do so fast."

Swift movement on the side of him was the only warning Deimos got before the earring was shoved brutally through the delicate cartilage; pain sweeping over his body from the action. Squeezing his eyes shut from the agonizing action, the young elf instinctively brought his hand up to the throbbing ear. Trying to hide the smirk on her face as the paladin leaned forward, his face contorted in pain, Elsharin stood up from her seated position on the bed to inspect him gripping his ear.

"_Ni'adamod!"_ Grimacing as he willed the sickening pain to leave his body, Deimos gritted his teeth. (**Damnit**)

An amused grin going across her face at the blood elf's obvious discomfort, Elsharin raised an entertained eyebrow. "_Anoar'anari redieashque'ashisorei?_ (**Such language in front of ladies?**)

Lifting his head up to quickly glance at Lena, who stood with her hands brought up to her mouth, tears beginning to pool in her big eyes at the pain her friend was in, Deimos turned his angry eyes at the high elf. His gaze only darkened as he took in her amused stance, a grin spreading across her face. "_A'ashisore'doreu_." (**You're not a lady**).

"Oh Deimos, I'm so sorry!" Unable to keep her emotions bottled up any longer, the gnome threw herself at the pained elf; completely oblivious to the Thalassian words being exchanged. Wrapping her arms around his neck, the mage was careful to avoid the newly pierced ear. "Had I known the superior region of your pinna would be so susceptible to discomfort, I would have offered some sort of sedative. Oh! And we never used lavender oil on the earring! Now you're vulnerable to Chondritis!"

Hesitantly and timidly patting the smaller girl's back as she sobbed into his neck, Deimos returned his angered glare at the chuckling high elf; who was getting far too much entertainment from the situation. Wincing as the gnome increased the sound of her cries, the paladin sent an annoyed look at Elsharin. "_Thdiesh'shorel."_ (**Good job**)

Rolling her blue eyes at the blood elf, the mage trainer took a step forward to address the overly emotional girl. "Lena, Deimos is fine. We can swab the piercing with oil now."

Nodding, the small girl unwrapped her arms from around the Sin'dorei's neck; her hands frantically wiping the tears staining her face. "I have the lavender oil on my desk. Should I retrieve anything else?"

Squinting her eyes at the inflamed ear, the high elf gave a small nod of her head. "I have grapeseed and sweet almond oil in the alchemy lab. Please get me 15 milliliters of each."

Eyeing the still fuming paladin once more, the gnome felt inclined to stay to offer some sort of emotional support to her friend; feeling somewhat responsible for his discomfort. Chewing her bottom lip nervously, she gave a quick smile at Deimos before making up her mind to follow the orders from her trainer. Jumping off the bed, the mage scurried from the room with a fast pace.

Watching with irritated eyes as the high elf carefully dipped the corner of a cloth into light violet liquid, Deimos hesitantly prodded the new piercing. Penetrated cleanly through the cartilage, the elf winced as the skin around the earring was raised and agitated; a burning sensation erupting when his fingers brushed against it.

Thin fingers enclosed around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his ear. "Don't touch it. Only the Light knows what you've touched today; you'll risk infection."

Glancing up at high elf's fair face, Deimos rolled his eyes as she sat on the bed beside him; a damp cloth in her hand. "You almost sound concerned."

Grinning as she softly placed one hand on his cheek to turn his head, Elsharin brought the other hand up to inspect the red ear. "I wouldn't go that far."

Wincing as the cloth tenderly dabbed around the golden earring, Deimos was taken back by the gentleness the high elf demonstrated while caring for him. Sparing a quick glance at her face, the paladin was surprised to meet her blue observant gaze. "Shouldn't you be watching what you're doing?"

Scowling at the blood elf, the mage trainer promptly broke the eye contact. Several beats passed, neither elves saying anything to the other while she continued to swab the inflamed ear. "You must be excited for this week."

Responding without thinking, Deimos rolled his eyes and heaved an angry sigh. "Yeah, thrilled."

Brows together in confusion at the sarcastic and unexpected answer, Elsharin momentarily paused in her cleaning. Turning her face to his to inspect his darkened expression, she gave him a quizzical look. "You're people are here for an induction into the Alliance. Why wouldn't you be happy?" Pausing, the high elf thought back on information she received. "I hear that Brightwing and your father are in the city."

"Look, can you just shut up and finish?"

Physically flinching from the harshness in his words, the high elf sent her gaze down the floor; taken back by the fury the paladin demonstrated at her. It was no secret that the high elves didn't get along with the blood elves, but Elsharin had developed a sort of joking rivalry between the two. To hear such callous words directed at her made her heart sink; though she was unsure for the reason. Rebounding from the verbal assault relatively fast, the mage trainer resumed her usual somber and serious expression while she continued dotting his ear. "I'm nearly finished."

Sighing at himself, Deimos immediately felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and guilt. Like Warren, it was unfair to displace his pent up rage at his father on an innocent person; especially one willing to help him. He was raised to always show women respect and honor; his words to the high elf were anything but. "Elsharin, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm just… really stressed right now. But I know that's not an excuse to talk to you so disrespectfully."

Quirking a delicate eyebrow up at the unexpected apology, the mage trainer placed the cloth down on the bed; distractedly hearing the padding of the gnome's small feet run through the house. Heaving a deep sigh, the high elf turned to look into Deimos' face. Worn and strained green eyes met her; she offered him a small smile. "I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear this from, but even though I don't know the entire story, I'm an excellent listener."

His eyes searching hers for any indication of trickery or deception, the paladin was taken aback to find none. Instead, her face was set in its trademark passive and serious way, though hints of sincerity and compassion were evident. Nodding as the high elf stood up from the miniature bed, Deimos watched her gracefully approach the desk. "Thanks, but I think I'll be fine. They'll be leaving in less than a week."

His hands going up to his newly pierced ear, Deimos silently brooded on his decision to re-pierce it. While he found the piece of jewelry fashionable and attractive, he knew it held a darker and more ominous meaning behind it. Had he been in Silvermoon and under the dominating gaze of his father, however, the meaning would be all the more important. Living in Stormwind City, he was free to choose for himself many aspects of his life that seemed infeasible in the Sin'dorei capital. The liberty to choose when he went to sleep, what time he ate, and what he did for the day made him feel ecstatic and free. Though Warren disapproved of the piercing, the commander treated the piece of jewelry in a humorous fashion; often berating the paladin for it.

"Other than your parents, did any of your family survive the Scourge attack?"

Turning his head to the direction the quiet and solemn voice originated from, Deimos eyed the back of Elsharin. Blinking several times at the mage, who was busying herself with cleaning the desk of the bandages and clothes, the young paladin brought his brows together in confusion at the abrupt question. "Um... I'm not really sure. My father never talks about my relatives much. I know my mother's from Dalaran, so I don't think they died in Silvermoon."

"What about your father's side? Do you have any relatives still alive?"

The once bleak tone gaining a pressing edge to it, Deimos shifted his weight on the bed anxiously. Unable to see her face, the Sin'dorei felt all the more nervous at the strange questions. "Like I said, my father never talks about my relatives. The only one I really see much is my cousin; and that's because he was in the same battalion as me in Silvermoon."

A small yet brisk movement to the side of Deimos drew his attention away from the peculiar and rather daunting conversation. Her feet scurrying about, Lena carried two small viols of liquid and an armful of white cloth. Completely oblivious at her presence interrupting the conversation commencing between the two elves, the small mage rapidly approached her trainer; all the while sending small glances at Deimos in hopes of finding him in less pain. "Elsharin! I retrieved the items you requested. Are there any other biologics that can offer considerable aid?"

Sparing a quick and thoughtful glance at Deimos, the young paladin returning the look with confusion, the high elf shook her head at the imploring question from the gnome. "Lena, you can finish disinfecting his ear. Allow the almond oil to dry first before applying the grapeseed."

Moving towards the door, Elsharin hesitantly paused; reluctantly turning around to face Deimos. Quickly glancing at the small girl while she prepared the two vials of liquid, the high elf gave a small sigh. "_Deimos, O'nimeinlu'laonr eleshme'eshseel'o. Thuasar'o'ashl a'rosh melaes'babaonin."_ (**Deimos, I meant what I said earlier. I'm always here if you want to talk.**)

Wincing briefly as the small gnome probed the inflamed ear, Deimos gave a small smile to the mage trainer. "_Ther'a_." (**Thank you**). Watching as she gave a quick nod of her head, the Sin'dorei kept his gaze on her as she left the room, her dress billowing as she walked. Though their conversation had been interrupted, the paladin had noticed a slight jump in her step as she departed the room. Whatever information she was seeking from the young Sin'dorei, it seemed it had been in her favor.

* * *

"We've already dismantled the orb of translocation to Undercity. We should consider constructing one between Silvermoon and Stormwind."

"It would be a logical choice, wouldn't it?"

Nodding at Warren Steele, Brightwing turned to one of the Sin'dorei advisors furiously scribbling on pieces of parchment; attempting to record the discussion happening between the two races. Seated in a conference room, a walnut table rested in the middle of the windowless space. Torches and sconces hung on the stoned walls, easily illuminating the space and the inhabitants. Seated around the long table was a handful of human officers; Warren and Shadowbreaker sat with piles of parchment in front of them. On the other side of the humans were the blood elves; Brightwing and Tharsis seated side by side. At two head ends of the table were Lor'themar and Wrynn; each looking on with interest but scarcely putting in their opinions.

In the middle of the table was a large map of Azeroth, an array of colored darts pressed into different regions on the map. The objective of the meeting was not politically-based but rather military; the conversations being dominated by those of armed status. The day had easily turned into nightfall, the discussions governing much of their time to notice the passing hours.

The ranger-general sipped water from a glass that rested in front of him. "Our mages have already learned the correct portaling from your mage trainers. That form of transportation should suffice until the orbs are completed. I would imagine it should take a month or so."

"Indeed. Perhaps we should go back to the discussion of the defensive positions in the Barrens. I truly believe that the wisest-"

"-and most beneficial to you humans-"

"-would be sending Sin'dorei troops to enforce the defense." Sending a glare at the elf that interrupted him, Warren locked his eyes aggressively with Tharsis. Leaning forward on his elbows, the elf narrowed his eyes at the warrior before glancing at the map below him. The subject was forced to be tabled early on in the meeting due to a heated argument breaking out; the source originating from Tharsis. Sighing silently to himself, Brightwing crossed his arms over his chest. He had hoped the commander would have been more level-headed the second time through the topic.

"Commander Ares'mar, we're not trying to uselessly jeopardize blood elves. The Barrens is in dire need of a stronger defense; what with Orgrimmar being to the northeast and Thunderbluff to the southwest. The Horde have much control over that territory. The trade agreements from Ratchet have begun to suffer as well. If we could somehow-"

Shaking his head in annoyance and dismay at Shadowbreaker's speech, Tharsis gripped the glass of water in front of him. The earlier days' events with the paladin trainer had created a rift between the two; making the air even stiffer when they addressed each other. "And, pray tell, what reinforcements are surrounding the area to support the Sin'dorei that would be guarding it?"

His steel gaze not wavering under Tharsis' equally intense glare, Shadowbreaker pointed at Ashenvale Forest on the map. "Astranaar is located just north of the Barrens. It's a largely populated city of night elves. As well as the Silverwing Sentinels stationed close to the border. They have often helped in the-"

"So, you want _blood elves_ to rely on _night elves_ for support?" Pausing to give a dark and demeaning chuckle at the man glaring at him, Tharsis picked up his glass to sip the water. "I can only imagine the delay the night elves would coincidently have when going to reinforce the Sin'dorei."

Pursing his lips in anger, the commander of the Stormwind paladins fought with all his might to keep his usual calmness to his features. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, Ares'mar, but the night elves _are_ part of your faction now."

"Perhaps you should reiterate that information to _them_ as well."

"Shadowbreaker, Ares'mar. This is not a debate or argument. Please either handle the conversation in a mature fashion or you will both be removed. I will not have arguing anymore."

Both men in question turned their heads to the king, who ran his hand over his tired face. The meeting had commenced several hours ago, leading well into the afternoon. The arguing had started shortly afterwards; Warren and Shadowbreaker seeming to have no qualms raising their voice to the defensive and hard Ares'mar. Shaking his head, Wrynn was finally able to see where Deimos inherited his difficult manner; his father seeming to have perfected it.

"My apologies, my king," Shadowbreaker replied in a solemn voice, quickly sending a sheepish look at the sovereign before glancing over at Tharsis in dismay.

Clearing his voice to try to calm the air, Warren leaned forward on the table to get a better look at the map; his eyes silently telling the paladin trainer to compose himself. The warrior was unsure what had transpired earlier that day between Tharsis and Shadowbreaker, but it was enough for the two to hold a grudge against each other. It was also painfully clear that the negotiations regarding reinforcing the front in the Barrens with Sin'dorei troops wasn't going to happen. "It's been quite some time since we've had proper reports regarding the defense in the Barrens. I was actually going to assign someone from my battalion to gather more accurate numbers in the area soon anyways. Perhaps we should table this discussion until my soldier returns with the report."

Narrowing his eyes at Warren, Tharsis smirked darkly while leaning forward slightly. "And I assume this 'scout' will be a human?"

Crossing his arms over his chest arrogantly, the warrior leaned back in his chair; cocking his head to the side while he held the intense and insistent gaze with Tharsis. "No, actually." He paused, lifting a delicate brow up. "I was going to send Deimos."

Sighing to himself as he watched Tharsis tense in anger at the human, Brightwing pursed his lips together while sharing a look with Lor'themar. While friends relished in reuniting, old enemies continued holding the resent and bitterness towards each other.

"Deimos?"

Blinking with a smug smirk on his face, Warren was rather satisfied with the position he placed the older Ares'mar in. While he felt a small flame of guilt at using the young elf as a pawn in his battle with Tharsis, he couldn't stop the feelings of victory. "Yes, Deimos. Perhaps you haven't heard but he's a soldier in my battalion. With him no longer living in Silvermoon, he couldn't possibly continue being in a company stationed there." His smirk deepening at the infuriated look etched into the elf's face, Warren leaned forward to steal a sip from his glass of water. "He's one of my best paladins." Pausing to meet the intense and furious gaze Tharsis sent him, the warrior couldn't hide the amusement and mockery in his voice. "You must have been upset to lose him from your company."

Holding the powerful stare with the human seated across from him, the air in the room thickened significantly. The other inhabitants didn't dare move a muscle, their breathing slightly hitched at the tension that enclosed the space. Shadowbreaker couldn't conceal the small smile that spread across his face; Warren's silent victory over Tharsis was a relief for the trainer. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair at the anxiety-filled room, Wrynn did not like where the meeting was headed.

A small cunning smile going across his fair face, Tharsis broke the eye contact with Warren. Swirling the clear liquid in his glass, the elf allowed his smile to grow across his features. Lifting his gaze up to meet Warren's slightly confused one from his change in demeanor; Tharsis cocked his head to side. "I'm glad you find my son's training to your liking. It means a great deal to me that Deimos matures into an adult elf the best way possible, being his _father _and all."

The arrogant look immediately being replaced with a skeptical and wary one, Warren eyed the grinning elf in front of him. Sparing a quick glance at Brightwing, the ranger-general stared at the older Ares'mar with as much suspicion as the warrior.

Clearing his voice, Lor'themar lifted a brow at the king, who looked worn from the meeting. "I move to table the discussion of re-fortifying defenses in the Barrens until further reports are collected. Until that time, would it reasonable to conclude the meeting?"

Nodding at the Sin'dorei leader, Wrynn stood up from his chair to address the room's inhabitants. "Tomorrow we will be discussing defensive numbers in Northrend. I have a meeting in the morning so we will commence after supper."

Finding it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from Tharsis, Warren mutely wondered the cryptic meaning behind the Sin'dorei's words. His devious and sly sneer was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up; his stomach jolting in a foreboding anticipation.


	4. Chapter 4

Swinging his sword at the thick tree, the young elf was satisfied when pieces and chunks of bark exploded from his assault. Following up with a pivot on his feet, the paladin gave a strong backhanded slice; a thick slice of wood falling from the trunk to the grassed forest ground. Eyeing the damage done, the elf backed up several paces, his chest rapidly heaving from the physical exercise. His red shirt clung to his upper torso, the sweat from his body causing the cloth to stick to his skin. Eyeing the thick tree, the Sin'dorei gripped the sword in his grasp tighter in preparation for the advance. Charging the tree, the elf leapt high to complete a strong aerial slice. Bracing his forearms for the resistance he knew would strike back from his assault, the young elf was welcomed with the vibrating struggle. Feeling his sword penetrate through the tree's strong defensive wood, the elf landed gracefully to the ground as the thick branch fell to the side of him.

"Do you often deface the forest when practicing?"

Whipping around to the familiar voice, sword still gripped in hands, Deimos eyed the deathly calm form of his father watching him from a distance. Quickly averting his eyes to the ground, the young elf moved to his possessions to steal a drink of water.

The sun was just barely half across the sky, the morning dying into noon. The temperature was nicer to the citizens of the Stormwind, the sun offering some warmth from the chilling wind. Wanting a challenge and change of scenery, Deimos had decided to practice his swordsmanship in Elwynn Forest. Approaching his rolled up wool cloak and container of water, the young elf felt a presence behind him. Unscrewing the top to down the liquid that would quench his parched throat, Deimos turned to face his father's composed posture. Generously swallowing the water, the young elf eyed the older elf's face. While it was calm, his green eyes held some kind of mirth to them; making Deimos' skin crawl.

Placing the bottled water and sword on the ground beside his cloak, the paladin ran the back of his hand across his forehead; wiping the sweat off his face. "How was your meeting yesterday?"

Elevating a brow at the attempt of small talk from the shorter elf, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest while he moved towards a formation of rocks. "Not very productive." Pausing to sit down on a boulder, the older elf smirked. "But what can you expect? This is the Alliance we're talking about."

Promptly ignoring the jab at their newest faction alignment, Deimos obediently nodded at his father; making no move from his position by the towering tree to join him. "Well, you still have several more days to make progress."

Eyeing his son's face at his positive words, Tharsis felt a small grin go across his face. The optimistic attitude would desist soon enough. His gaze landing on the golden hoop in Deimos' upper ear, the older elf clenched his teeth in anger. The boy had wasted no time to defile his body with the irritating piece of jewelry. "Who did you get to pierce your ear again?"

Immediately sending his gaze downcast, Deimos felt a humiliated blush cross his face at his father's question. Vaguely fingering the still tender cartilage around the earring, the young elf sighed. "A friend did it yesterday."

Standing up from the boulder, Tharsis calmly walked to his son sides, his own hand going up to finger the golden hoop. The area was tinged red, giving evidence to the new puncture. Watching his son tense under his touch, the older elf grinned as he roughly probed the area. Allowing his fingers to travel up the shorter elf's ear, his fingertips grazed the point at the top. "Interesting placement for it. I would hate to imagine what would happen if it was ripped out." Pausing to grip the sensitive area, Tharsis smirked at Deimos' nervous face, his eyes glued to the floor. "It would probably tear your elvish point; you'd look just like a human."

Giving a small sigh of relief as his father removed his hand from his ear, the younger elf glanced up at Tharsis. "If there's nothing else you wanted to discuss, I'd like to return to practicing."

His eyes roaming his son's blank and submissive facial expression, the older elf nodded slightly while moving towards the way he came. The small clearing in the forest wasn't located far from Stormwind, the sounds of the city still reached their ears. His back turned to Deimos while he walked away, Tharsis allowed a small smile to spread across his face as he heard his son give a sigh. Stopping abruptly in his walk, the older elf turned around. "Oh, and Deimos?"

Whipping his head around at his father's uncharacteristic merry and mirthful voice, the young elf lifted a questioning brow to him. "Yes?"

Unable to stop the smug smirk creeping on his face, Tharsis took a step forward. "Don't forget to have your stuff packed by the end of this week." Immediately turning around as if the information was nothing of importance, the older elf began his walking; though he knew full well he wouldn't get far.

The blood draining from his face at the words, Deimos was momentarily stunned. Taking several shaky steps forward, the young elf's mind was reeling. "Wait, what? Have whose stuff packed? What are you talking about?"

Chuckling darkly at the barrage of anxiety-filled questions, Tharsis turned around with a feigned surprised look on his face. The young elf had swiftly reached his father; confusion and horror painted on his features. Looking down into his son's face, Tharsis grinned sadistically. "Make sure your possessions, whatever you have here, are packed. You're returning to Silvermoon with me."

Stunned green eyes roaming his father's face, looking for any trickery, Deimos felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn't leave Stormwind; it had become his new home. He felt was training better under an actual paladin and had made several friends. Shaking his head, the young elf felt his respiration increase at the shocked information. "No, my home is here now. I can't go back to Silvermoon."

Lifting an unamused brow at the response, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest threateningly; his voice coming out hard and stern "Can't? Or don't want to? Either way, you're coming home."

Setting his jaw, Deimos felt the initial feeling of shock dissipate from his body. Completely forgetting the obedient and compliant nature he was conditioned for his life to abide to, the young elf welcomed the angered feelings. Pursing his lips together, his blood began to boil as he looked into his father's face. "No, I'm not. I'm staying here. And that's final."

Clenching his teeth in fury as his son turned his back on him, Tharsis narrowed his eyes as he saw red from anger. "How dare you? You _will_ listen to me, and you _will_ return home. You're play time here is _over_, Deimos!"

Whipping around at his father's strict voice, the severe words only seemed to make Deimos angrier. Glaring back at the older elf, the paladin took an aggressive step towards him, his angry voice echoing through the forest. "I'm staying here. Maybe you didn't hear, but you're not my commanding officer anymore! I don't have to take orders from you!"

Snarling at the rebellious elf, Tharsis mirrored the shorter elf's movement with his own intimidating step forward. "I may not be your commanding officer, but I'm still your father."

Eyeing the older elf in disgust, Deimos' response came out deathly quiet. "Since when?"

A blur in front of him was the only indication of the charge. Feeling his head slam into the rough trunk of a tree, Deimos blinked furiously in an attempt to clear the dizzy spell. Just as his father's livid face came into focus, a hard punch to his face propelled his head to the side. Immediately following, the young elf felt his head whip to the opposite side as a second punch landed on his other cheek. His head pounding in pain, the paladin struggled to look up at Tharsis. A firm grasp on his shoulder holding him in place against the coarse bark, Deimos felt two rough punches impale his midsection. The wind knocked out of him, the young elf futilely began to thrash against the taller elf. A third well placed swing collided with his chest; the snapping of a rib causing his chest to heat up in pain. Moaning at his hurting torso, Deimos was somewhat aware of his body leaving the tree behind him. With a harsh slam, he was thrown back into the thick trunk.

Feeling a firm hand grasping his throat, the young elf opened eyes that he didn't realize he clenched shut painfully. Swallowing hard as he looked into his father's furious face, Deimos struggled against the hand that began to cut off his precious air supply. The resistance from his son only infuriated the older elf more as he slammed Deimos roughly up against the tree again. Leaning in closer to his son's face, Tharsis smiled at the fearful eyes looking back at him. "You're coming back with me to Silvermoon, Deimos. Or have you forgotten the laws that govern our race. By Sin'dorei decree, you're not old enough to make life decisions. Those choices are reserved for parents."

"Yeah? Well, I'd like to see you physically try to take me."

Smirking at the boy's desperation in his voice, Tharsis increased his grip on his neck. "You have two options for leaving this city. You can either willingly come with me, or I'll inform the Magisters about your rebellious attitude. They'd have no problem retrieving a runaway elfling."

He wasn't sure if it was the sadistic smirk on Tharsis' face or the truth behind the words leaving his mouth, but a bridge in Deimos broke; his pent up anger and fury erupting from his being. Snarling at the older elf, Deimos focused all his energy and mana in his body at the attack in his mind; the ferocity of the concentration making the spell no longer need a chant. Focusing on his father, the paladin watched with satisfaction as bolts of holy energy slammed into the taller elf's chest; throwing his body paces backwards with a pained grunt.

Realization of what he did dawning on him, Deimos began to regret his actions. Whipping his head towards his bundle of possessions resting nearly twenty feet away, the young elf knew if he wanted to stand a chance against his father he'd need to retrieve his sword. The strong holy attack had exhausted much of his energy, rendering his spells useless. Fleeing the area briefly crossed his mind, though he knew it wouldn't prove any point; Tharsis would find him in Stormwind. Beginning to sprint towards the prone sword on the forested ground, the young elf sent a silent prayer to the Light.

The desire for a miracle wasn't answered for the paladin. A body tackled him to the ground as Deimos felt the breath in his lungs be forced out at the heavy weight on top of him. Feeling the mass pull itself off his back, the young elf was fast to rebound; rolling on his back. His broken rib protesting at the maneuver, the paladin wasted no time to send a hard kick at his attacker standing over him. His foot making contact with Tharsis' lower stomach, the older elf doubled over from the unexpected attack. Taking advantage of the opening, Deimos was quick to pull himself to his feet and resume his strides towards the sword.

A firm and strong hand gripping the nape of his neck, Deimos winced in pain as he was thrown against a tree with surprising strength. Lying in a heap at the base of the trunk, Deimos struggled to keep his eyes focused at the body advancing towards him. His head beamed in pain from the abuse; his breathing was labored from the snapped rib. Futilely struggling against a strong hand that lifted him from the ground, Deimos briefly looked into his father's face. The older elf's eyes were mad with fury; the rest of his face sadistically calm. Somehow, the young elf had managed to land a fisted hand across the taller elf's face. Expertly rebounding from the weak assault, Tharsis harshly whipped his insolent son around; his chest pressed against the trunk of the tree.

Feeling the rough bark rub against his cheek, Deimos began to thrash his limbs to free himself. An angry grunt was heard from behind him as a hand snaked itself through his messy blonde hair. Gripping the hair painfully, Tharsis pulled the paladin's head back swiftly before slamming his face into the hard tree trunk. Ignoring the protesting grunts of pain from the younger elf, Tharsis was quick to follow up with several more thrusts of his hand; distractedly noticing the bark on the tree shine with blood.

Consciousness threatened to leave the young elf's body as his head made painful contact with the resilient tree once more. Deimos was somewhat aware of the warm liquid running down his face; his hair no longer its blonde color. Wincing as he expected his father to slam his face into the tree again, he was surprised to instead feel his head pulled back brutally.

Glancing down at his son's agonizing face, Tharsis grinned sadistically as he pulled his hair back further. The boy's face was streaked with blood, a pulsing wound on his forehead the apparent spot that took the beating. His grin turned into a full smile as he heard pained whimpers escape Deimos' quivering lips.

Feeling hot breath go past his ear and tickle his bruised cheek, the paladin would have flinched away had the hand not been holding his hair. "If you want to treat this like a duel, then so be it." Wincing at the whispered words, Deimos clenched his eyes shut as he heard the recognizable sound of a sword leaving its sheathe.

* * *

"I was expecting him to flip the table over and strangle you."

Laughing into his glass of mead, Warren eyed the elf sitting on the other side of the lavish table. "I was surprised he gave up as easily as he did."

Squinting his eyes in thought at the man's words, Brightwing sipped the mead in his own glass. Sitting at Warren's house, the ranger-general found the Sin'dorei decorations to be rather humorous. He was impressed that the young elf was able to complete such a feat as redecorating an entire house in one day; though he had an inclination that it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. While the style wasn't completely identical to Silvermoon, such as the stairs, it carried a strong resemblance. "I still feel uncomfortable about that. It's not like Tharsis to throw in the towel that fast."

Shrugging at his friend, the warrior leaned back against the high rise chair. "I guess we'll see tonight at the meeting. I can't wait to hear what he has to say about Northrend."

"His battalion just returned from the front. I wouldn't be quick to disregard him, Warren."

"Yeah, well, so did Shadowbreaker's so we can compare notes."

"Just try to be civil."

Smirking and shaking his head at the elf's attempt at courteousness, Warren heard the front door of the house open with a creak. Footsteps into the home indicated that the person had entered the dwelling, the door slamming shut with a vibrating bang. Sharing a curious glance with Brightwing, Warren pushed the chair out from under him while he lifted interested brows up. Hearing the footsteps enter the foyer, the man gave a sigh. "Deimos? You back from practice? I was expecting you hours-"

His feet turning to lead as he entered the foyer, Warren felt his mouth fall slightly agape at the boy in front of him. Hand gripping the golden railing, Deimos was preparing to sprint up the stairs; pausing when he heard the human's voice. His wide green eyes darted from Warren's aghast face to Brightwing's knowing yet sad expression.

His gaze roaming on the young elf standing on the lowest stair, his face shocked as if he was caught doing something wrong, Warren couldn't stop the gasp that emitted itself from his lips. Blood streaked the elf's fair face, both sides of his cheeks developing angry purple bruises. His once blonde hair was dyed in dark blood, his shirt ripped relentless around his form. Opening and closing his mouth to say something, the older man was shocked at the abused state the paladin was in. Abruptly, Deimos turned on his feet and fled up the stairs.

His senses returning to him from his stunned state, Warren moved to run after the hurt elf; curiosity and anger at his state filling his body. However, a strong hand gripped his shoulder, causing the man to halt in his advance. Turning questioning eyes to the side, Warren met the darkened yet sad eyes of Brightwing; the elf giving a small shake of his head. "Give him time, Warren."

Pulling his arm away from his friend, the warrior heard the bathroom door slam shut. "Like hell I will."

Taking the stairs two at a time, the older man's mind was considering all the possible scenarios for the injuries. The most logical choice was that he was jumped by thieves; he had told Warren he was going to practice in Elwynn Forest. Though the forest was relatively safe, no place was without its criminals. And with Westfall's close proximity and the Defias' increased activity, it was a very sound reason. Reaching the shut bathroom door, Warren didn't bother knocking; already knowing what answer he'd get from the elf. Instead, he threw the door open.

"Light…"

Gripping the sink on both sides, Deimos leaned his hurt body up against the porcelain basin; the blood on his arms beginning to paint the once white surface. His torn shirt thrown to the side, the young elf stood shirtless as his body painfully shook with each breath. Glancing up in surprise as the door swung open, his hurt-filled and defeated eyes landed on Warrens' disgusted ones through the mirror on the wall in front of him. Swallowing hard, the paladin furiously broke the eye contact, instead focusing his attention on the sink. Vaguely watching the red liquid from his head wound drip down into the basin, the young elf felt his cheeks burn in humiliation and shame.

"Deimos… by the Light…" Moving forward hesitantly, Warren couldn't take his eyes off the boy's bare back. The muscled torso was smeared with thick blood; the hue nearly black. Running horizontally across the elf's back were angry slices; continuing down his back. The gashes were thick and deep; chunks of broken ribs and ripped muscles protruding from the wounds. Eyeing the rest of the elf through the reflection in the mirror, the older man was content that his chest wasn't riddled with similar markings. Straining his hearing, Warren took notice to a faint wheezing coming from the Sin'dorei's intake of breath; the recognizable sign of broken ribs.

Unable to meet the warrior's imploring gaze, Deimos tried his best to shrug; the screaming abrasions protesting in anguish from the movement. However much he tried, the young elf was unable to stop the wince on his face. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Placing a gentle hand on the top of the boy's shoulder to prevent movement, Warren narrowed his eyes at the gashes on his back. Upon closer inspection, the man took in the even and flush lacerations; a type of injury he was well experienced with seeing. The lack of ripped skin on the ends of the wounds negated the warrior's suspicion of bandits; the injuries were too clean cut. Shaking his head in confusion, the older man moved to the side of the elf; sparing a glance at the boy. Head down in embarrassment and shame, Deimos clenched his eyes shut as a sweeping pain rolled over his body. "Deimos, what happened? These wounds; they were made by a sword. But how can they be so level? I doubt the Defias are that skilled."

The scarlet blush on his cheeks deepening, the paladin bit his lip at the ignorant question. His back shrieked at him in pain; begging to be healed. However, the young elf knew he wasn't able to. Lifting his head up to respond to Warren, the Deimos widened his eyes in shock and horror at the second face looking back at him through the mirror. His unnatural green eyes meeting similar ones, Deimos felt the blood drain from his face as he glanced at Brightwing. The older elf slowly entered the bathroom, silently pushing Warren to the side while he inspected the hemorrhaging wounds. The younger elf was astounded and surprised to see grief pass over the ranger-general's face while he examined the slashes.

"These are lashings. It was a punishment."

Whipping his head to look at the older elf beside him, Warren regarded him with a confused look. "Lashings? From who?"

The paladin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his eyes refusing to meet the older men's. Sighing heavily, Brightwing ran a tired hand down his face as he hesitantly lifted his hand to probe the deep wounds; the body beneath him tensing at the touch. "What happened, Deimos?"

The younger elf flinched away from the contact, several beats passed without an answer. Gripping the basin tighter beneath his hands, Deimos felt ashamed under Brightwing's gaze. "I-I deserved this. It was my fault."

Clenching his jaw in anger at the small voice that replied, Brightwing felt his boil blood as he looked at the angry wounds. The older elf knew he wasn't directing his fury at the paladin but instead the sole elf responsible for delivering the cruel punishment. Glancing to the side, the ranger-general took in Warren's slightly confused face; his eyes darting from the bloodied backside to Brightwing. Moving to the side of Deimos with purpose, the older elf forced his voice to soften when addressing the boy. "Deimos, there is nothing on Azeroth you could have done that would deserve this kind of discipline. What made your father so angry?"

Brows rising in shock while his eyes widened in horror at the realization, Warren abruptly turned to the young elf around to face him. "Father? Tharsis did this?"

Quickly sending a silent scowl at the human next to him, Brightwing examined Deimos' blank and expressionless face. His gaze was locked onto the floor; refusing to meet either of the older men's. His green eyes, however, were a window into his tormented being. Swirling with anguish and panic, the young elf tried his best to conceal the emotions. "I started it. I shouldn't have-"

"What? Voiced your opinion? Stood up for yourself? What was it this time, Deimos?"

Lifting embarrassed eyes to lock with Brightwing's, the young elf was taken back by the concern and distress that clouded Brightwing's features. Standing next to the older elf was Warren, his face completely enveloped is disbelief. Unable to holding the hard gaze with the taller elf, Deimos turned his head away from the two. "Just please leave me alone. I can heal after I've rested."

Sighing at boy's words, Brightwing shook his head; his gaze not leaving the young elf's face. "No, Deimos. We can't leave those wounds open. You'll risk infection. Warren, can you call for a priest?"

Tearing his gaze away from the younger elf, Warren opened his mouth to reply to the question; his shocked face ebbing away at a troubled expression. While he knew physical punishment wasn't unheard of, the warrior still couldn't grasp the concept of dealing such destruction to your own kin.

A brisk and pained voiced cut off the older man. "No, I don't want a priest." Pausing, Deimos turned his fierce green eyes on Brightwing; anger overcoming his face trying in vain to conceal the turmoil in him. His voice came out harsh and firm, trying to hide the quivers that racked his torn body. "I told you; I'll do it myself. It was my fault; I can clean up my own messes."

His face turning to sorrow, the older elf sympathetically eyed the paladin's bloodied face. His attempted strong front was weak; the ranger-general easily seeing through the cracks that marred his defense. Narrowing his eyes on the boy, Brightwing gave a disbelieving shake of his head. "Deimos, you did nothing to deserve this treatment. The Light cursed you with a poor parent; which is not your fault. I don't know how to make you understand this."

Biting his lower lip in thought, the words from the ranger-general only seemed to make the young elf angry. Opening his mouth reiterate his responsibility for his own body, Deimos felt his mind become lightheaded. His sight turned fuzzy, the sides of his vision tunneling black. The pain enveloping his body seemed to ease as consciousness threatened to abandon him; his mind gratefully accepting the reprise.

Eyes widening as he watched the younger elf sway on his feet, Warren easily caught him as he collapsed downward. Careful to support the limp body under his arms so as to not irritate the wounds further, the man spared a worried glance with Brightwing; whose face was painted with concerned. Not sure if he should lay Deimos on the tiled flooring in the bathroom on his chest or back, the warrior sent a questioning gaze at the older elf while he stood in a half crouch while supporting the paladin. "What should we do? Should I go get the priests now?"

Bending down to inspect the younger elf's face, Brightwing was rewarded with seeing the closed lids flutter open. Pained and confused eyes looked up at him, his imploring gaze answering Warren's lingering question. Sighing at the boy's silent plea, the older elf gave a small shake of his head. "No. Let's clean the wounds and he can heal it in an hour or so."

Ignoring the skeptical look from the man, Brightwing kept his gaze locked with Deimos while he helped the boy to his feet. Eyeing the shorter elf sway on his two feet, the ranger-general was sure to say close to him in case he tumbled forward again. "Warren, do you have any kind of alcohol we could use?"

Nodding, the man allowed his gaze to linger on the boy's pained face; still uncomfortable with not hailing a priest. "I'll grab some whiskey. His room's at the end of the hall. We can clean him up there."

Watching the warrior leave the bathroom, Brightwing gestured to the silent elf to exit the small space. Being mindful to watch for any evidence of the paladin losing his balance or passing out, the older elf remained close to him. Silently and slowly making their way through the hall, Brightwing walked slightly behind Deimos; his eyes roaming the ravished back. Tharsis had taken the punishment too far.

Watching Deimos gently push his bedroom door open, the older elf vaguely heard Warren's footsteps resounding through the house with a swift pace. While Brightwing was somewhat familiar with Tharsis' brutal methods, it was obvious that the human was not. His shocked and stunned face alluded to as much; his ignorant behavior only hindering the already dire situation.

Motioning to the rounded Sin'dorei accented bed, Brightwing turned to the young elf. His face was contorted in pain; the movement irritating his already burning wounds. The gash on his forehead had seemed to have stopped oozing blood, his hair matted into the lesion. "_Inard'a elamdieash'nuanas_." (**Lay on your stomach**).

Nodding as he pulled off his boots, Deimos carefully lowered himself to the bed; gladly accepting the older elf's gentle aid. Turning his head on the pillow, the young elf felt his body relax significantly in the plush bed; the Netherweave comforter soothing his aching skin. The multitude of pillows welcomed his tired head; threatening to lull him to sleep. Gentle probing around the lashes on his back halted any notions of sleep; his pain receptors sending alarmed messages at the fingers touching him.

"Here," Warren said, placing a bottle of alcohol beside the bed, along with an armful of towels and bandages. "We should clean and bandage the wounds."

Silently nodding at the man, Brightwing sat on the edge of the rounded bed as he tilted the container of alcohol onto a towel. Placing a gentle hand on the younger elf's arm, the ranger-general addressed him. "Deimos, this is probably not going to be the most comfortable. Try to lie still."

"Just do it."

A small sigh escaping through his lips at the small muffled voice, Brightwing hesitantly brought the doused piece of cloth to one of the lashes. The dabbing motion not faltering when the young elf hissed in pain, the older elf noticed Deimos' back tense as the alcohol began to sanitize the area. Eyeing the tightened muscles, Brightwing tried to be as tenderly as he could as he poured more alcohol on the wounds. Cautiously lifting his hands away as the paladin shifted uncomfortably at the burning liquid, Brightwing shared a wary look with Warren. "You doing ok?"

"Yeah, just finish."

His hands resuming their cleaning movements over the harsh wounds, the ranger-general heaved a sigh. It wasn't the first time he was in the position; cleaning Deimos' injuries. More times than not, the older Ares'mar would push his son beyond his limits on the training field, resulting in the younger elf donning cuts and gashes. Grimacing as he distractedly wiped the blood away from the torn flesh, Brightwing hoped he wouldn't have to repeat the actions. Placing him in Stormwind was not only a logical move; the younger elf already having positive rapport with the humans, but also a protective one. While Tharsis didn't needlessly and unprovoked beat his son, the father would take punishments or training to a severe line. He claimed he was conditioning Deimos to be a strong and fierce soldier; his brutal and harsh methods would only strengthen the boy. Shaking his head slightly, Brightwing had often voiced his own disliking for the elf's logic. Deimos was still considered intensely young by their standards; at an age the humans would deem to be in the adolescent or teenage years. Despite his tender age, however, the boy was more than apt and deadly on the battlefield; Tharsis had trained him as much. Though he was proficient and fierce with a blade, the young elf lacked much when it came to development and personal life. He had grown up with hardly any friends in Silvermoon; Tharsis quickly squandering any notion of creating friendships with others. Further, it was difficult for Deimos to forge such companionships; elves his age weren't training with such rigor. The soldiers in the battalion he grew up with were all adult or his father's age; none of them being able to relate to an elf so young nor wanting to.

Silence enveloped the room for a minute or two, the older elf continuing the cleaning. Deimos, though still flinching several times during the process, had relaxed his posture. Warren stood on the side, arms crossed over his chest, as he mutedly watched the ranger-general wipe the alcohol over the wounds. A small voice, however, pulled the two older men out of their dazed reveries.

"He's making me go back to Silvermoon."

His hand pausing mid dab, Brightwing eyed the back of Deimos' head; unable to see his face. The quiet and defeated voice was chillingly calm, his tone not alluding to the distress that he felt in his heart. Sending a questioning glance at Warren, the older elf locked gazes with an equally confused yet angry look. Brows together at the comment, Brightwing continued the cleaning. "Deimos, he can't make you go back. I stationed you here and my orders over rule his."

Several beats of silence passed, the young elf's deep breathing echoing in the deathly still room. "He's going to go to the Magisters telling them I'm being rebellious. Under the Truancy Decree, I have to listen to him; I'm apparently not old enough to make my own decisions."

Brows brought together at the bitter sound in the young elf's voice, Brightwing gave a small shake of his head. Trying to force a generous amount of valor into his voice, the older elf felt doubt at his encouraging words to the paladin. "Those are ancient laws. I'm not sure that the Magisters would even enforce them."

Propping himself up on his elbows, the young elf turned disbelieving and angered eyes at the ranger-general. "These are the Magisters we're talking about, Brightwing. Of course they'll enforce them! They hear the word 'rebel' and immediately send someone to deal with it." Pausing to shake his head, Deimos couldn't hide the defeated and crushed look on his face. "I'd rather leave with my own wits instead of being mind controlled. I'm just going to go, move back to Silvermoon, and resume my old lifestyle."

Sighing at the sarcastic and sour voice, the older elf turned his gaze to Warren; who narrowed his eyes at the paladin in thought. The human was, no doubt, unfamiliar with the oppressive government the Sin'dorei lived under. He wouldn't be able to understand the dire situation Tharsis had placed his son in. To be called out a rebel or radical in a public area, least of all to the Magisters, could prove to be fatal. Typically, the panel of magi would promptly have the insurgent mind controlled; swiftly quelling the revolutionary thoughts the individual once possessed. It was painful, humiliating, and degrading; but nevertheless done.

"Is this true, Brightwing?" Warren asked, turning questioning and incredulous eyes at the older elf. "Can your government just seize Deimos?"

Running a tired hand over his face, the ranger-general glanced at the younger elf's defeated and heated face looking back at him; feeling bad about the words he was about to say. "Unfortunately, yes. He's considered a minor by our laws. Even if he could _somehow_ get the Magisters to allow him to plead his case, he's not even half the age of what's considered an adult. By all rights, Tharsis does have authority in deciding Deimos' decisions."

Shaking his head in confusion and disbelief, the warrior darted his eyes between the paladin and Brightwing. "So, he's old enough to fight in a war but not decide where he lives for Light's sake?"

Sighing, the older elf knew the man would have difficulty grasping their foreign customs; their peculiar aging unfamiliar to the warrior. "Technically, yes. Majority of parents, however, don't enlist their child in the military at such a young age. Deimos is kind of a rare breed in this case."

Grunting in aggravation, the young elf dropped back down on the plush bed in anger; the conversation around him only fueling his heated thoughts. He felt a mass multitude of emotions filling his being; anger at his father for forcing him, hope for possibly finding a loophole, and sadness for knowing he'd have to leave Stormwind. The mixed emotions seemed to leave Deimos in a daze; the day's events feeling surreal to him. "I'm going to the meeting tonight. He's going to inform the king and Lor'themar so they can choose a different ambassador."

Nodding at the paladin's deflated voice, Brightwing gave a small sigh. He wasn't sure what sadistic and backward logic the older Ares'mar had in mind, but Brightwing felt his blood boil at the thought. For once, Deimos was happy and content with his life; he had friends and was excelling in his class as a paladin. To pull the young elf from the human city was cruel and harsh; an action that seemed to fit Tharsis perfectly. Gritting his teeth in anger, the ranger-general intended to share words with the young elf's father.

* * *

Gripping the quill in his closed hand harder, the king darted his eyes between the two figures standing before him. The meeting with the officers had commenced slightly early; Tharsis claiming he had information for Wrynn. The sovereign was slightly perplexed and surprised to see the younger Ares'mar accompany his father into the meeting hall; his gaze kept dutifully and respectfully down from the curious glances. The king was even more surprised to see Deimos promptly ignore Warren's and Brightwing's presences; his eyes not even sending silent greetings to the two. Instead, he continued to reside compliantly next to his father's side; Tharsis occasionally sending little glances at his son as if to check he was still there. The blank and empty look in the boy's eyes was the most disturbing to the king. Used to seeing liveliness and spirit in the young elf, his face was void of any.

"I'm sorry, Commander Ares'mar, I'm a bit confused," Wrynn paused, shaking his head slightly while he gazed at the two elves in front of him. Tharsis stood in the middle of the floor, facing the panel, with Deimos positioned silently at his side; his head down and eyes refusing to meet the inquisitive gazes. "Why is Deimos returning to Silvermoon?"

Sighing impatiently at the man, Tharsis replied with in deathly calm voice. "My son is far too young to be an ambassador between races. I believe he suited his purpose initially, but now that our races have more affinity, we can assign you a better fitting diplomat. Deimos has no political training. And, as his father, it's my responsibility to ensure he receives the best living situation. He is but an adolescent in our culture. I believe that the best way for him to mature into a well-rounded adult elf is to be brought up amongst elves."

Shaking his head slightly at the blatant lie the older elf fed to the room, Warren sighed in dismay. His eyes falling on Deimos' still form, he watched with interest as the young elf set his jaw in anger; obviously disagreeing with his father's speech. "And by best living situation, you mean living under your dictatorial eye?"

Heads whipping towards Warren in shocked surprise at the his outspoken comment, the warrior watched with angered eyes as Tharsis shifted furiously from one foot to the other; careful to keep his outward demeanor calm and collective. "As you're not a parent, Commander Steele, I don't expect you to understand."

Sighing, the king tapped the quill nestled between his fingers against the oak table; his eyes landing on the silent young elf. "And what about Deimos? Perhaps he should have a say in this."

Crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, Tharsis gave an impatient stare at the king in hopes to subdue the obnoxious questions. Quickly glancing at his silent son, the older elf had to force the threatening smile to desist. The paladin had easily taken a submissive manner; the attitude adjustment from earlier in the day seemed to have worked. "Deimos isn't old enough to know what is truly good for him. By law, he is vastly underage; his well-being is in my hands to decide."

Swallowing hard, the king glanced down at the pile of parchment resting in front of him. It was no secret that the human leader wished for a better-trained diplomat from the Sin'dorei; Deimos lacking any political knowledge. While trying to give his input on behalf of his race, the young elf had become a form of communication between the races. With the increase in treaties and agreements being decided upon, a more seasoned ambassador was the rational choice. However, Wrynn had assumed the young elf would continue residing in the human city.

"And what of his battalion? He can't live in Silvermoon_ and_ still be a soldier in my company." Warren leaned forward, his elbows on the table, while he bore his hard gaze into the older Ares'mar.

Smirking at the man, Tharsis lifted a brow. "Obviously, Commander Steele. Deimos will be leaving your battalion and joining his previous one stationed in Silvermoon."

Watching with displeasure as Warren and Tharsis exchanged heated glares with each other, neither one willing to break the silent battle, Wrynn cleared his throat in hopes of drawing attention to himself. Glancing up to meet Lor'themar's even and level gaze, the sovereign gave the Sin'dorei leader a tight grin. "With Ares'mar's unexpected departure, we'll need a new ambassador assigned."

Hastily stealing a curious glance at the two elves standing in the front of the room, Lor'themar gave a quick nod. While the leader was curious as to the reasoning behind Tharsis' behavior and decision, the leader had enough knowledge of the rough relationship between the father and son to know it was anything but the reason's the older elf told them. "Of course, King Varian. I'll consign an advisor when I return to Silvermoon in several days."

Sitting back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, Brightwing refused to break his intense and unwavering gaze from Tharsis' face. The older elf was sinister and cunning; feeding lies to the room for his true intents. Pursing his lips, the ranger-general wasn't sure himself what Tharsis' true motives were, but he intended on finding out.

* * *

"Tharsis!"

Sighing impatiently as his ears picked up heavy and swiftly approaching footsteps echoing off the stoned walls, the older Ares'mar paused in his step. Sparing a quick glance at Deimos walking beside him, who also stopped at the hailing voice, Tharsis was rewarded with seeing a grisly expression quickly cross his son's features. Lifting an amused brow up at the young elf's face, Tharsis gave a dramatic sigh as he turned around to address the new presence. "Yes, Brightwing. How can I help you?"

Glaring into the older Ares'mar's calm yet arrogant face, Brightwing had to use all of his self-reserve to not respond with a swift punch to the face. Clenching his teeth in frustration, the ranger-general tore his gaze from Tharsis to quickly glance at Deimos, who stood dutifully at his father's side. "Can we talk alone?"

Eyeing Deimos' fidgeting figure, Tharsis gave a small nod of his head. The young elf picked up on the silent request as he emitted a small sigh. "I think I'll turn in for the night." Pausing while he set his jaw in anger, the paladin sent a hardened look at Tharsis' inquisitive gaze. "I guess I better start packing too."

Pursing his lips in anger at the bitterness in the boy's tone, Tharsis watched with a disapproving stare as Deimos turned on his heels to leave; his angered retreating form giving evidence to the pent up frustration he was feeling. His gaze turning from his son's back to Brightwing's clouded face, Tharsis raised an uninterested brow. "Yes?"

Clenching his teeth, the ranger-general fought to withhold the fury he felt for the commander. Glancing at several human's passing by with curious peeks, Brightwing addressed the other elf in Thalassian. "What the hell is wrong with you, Tharsis?"

Smirking arrogantly at the rough question, the older Ares'mar crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Based on your tone, I can only assume Deimos went running to you today."

Shaking his head in disgust at the opposite elf, Brightwing lifted surprised brows. "Oh, you mean when I helped him heal the sword wounds on his back. I don't know what happened but, Light, that was too far."

Rolling his eyes at the tone from the other elf, Tharsis offered him an amused grin. "As much as you like to forget this, he's my son; I will discipline him as I see fit. And frankly, I don't appreciate you questioning how I raise him; you've overstepped your boundaries in this area and always have." Pausing to take an aggressive step towards the glaring ranger-general, Tharsis narrowed his frustrated eyes at him. "You've meddled in my personal affairs for too long, Brightwing; trying to protect and shelter the boy. But I'm telling you now; back off."

Clenching his teeth in anger at the commander, Brightwing felt his hands clench into fists at his side. His own eyes narrowing at the angered face, he felt a small smirk go across his face. "Don't forget who you're talking to, Ares'mar. I'm still your superior, so you best watch your tone."

Not backing down, Tharsis allowed a sinister and cunning smile to decorate his features. "Yes, I know." Pausing while the smile deepened on his face, the commander cocked his head to the side with feigned confusion. "And I wonder how the Magisters would react to hearing that the ranger-general was corrupting an elfling with rebellious ideas. I doubt it would go over very well. It would probably end the same way if they had to come retrieve Deimos."

Snarling at the threat, Brightwing felt his blood boil at the elf. "You would allow the Magisters to come get your son? That alone should be enough evidence that you're not fit to be a father."

The cocky and haughty smile never falter, Tharsis gave a small chuckle at the ranger-general. "Deimos is going willingly; I won't even have to approach the Magisters." Pausing as he eyed the heated look on the other elf's face, the commander gave a smile. "Though I can't imagine how surprised the Magisters would be to hear such radical talk about them from you."

Shaking his head in disbelief at the commander, Brightwing knew he had to walk away before he committed an act he would later regret. Tightening his lips in anger, the ranger-general eyed the amused and boastful face in front of him with disdain. "Screw you, Tharsis. When the day comes that you finally snap to your senses and realize what you've done, I pray that I'm there to see you crash and burn."

Smirking at the words, Tharsis lifted a delicate brow. "As heart touching as this little conversation has been, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Stay away from my son."

Using all his restraint to not throw a punch, Brightwing watched Tharsis stiffly turn around and move down the passage. The conversation had played out similar to what he was expecting; the commander immediately assuming a defensive position. The threats and intimidations, however, were unanticipated. Stooping to such a low level, even for Tharsis, infuriated the ranger-general tremendously; he knew he was powerless to stop such threats. If the magisters heard, whether there was truth behind it or not, that Brightwing was corrupting an elfling with revolutionary thoughts, the results would be dire. Though he held some power of authority amongst his people, Brightwing would be ineffective against the council of magi. Tharsis had coerced and cornered the ranger-general just as he did Deimos.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you very much to everyone who's been following the story and has shared their kinds words with me. I love hearing back from readers. I'm sorry about the belated updates; I'm still waiting on life to settle down a bit. This was probably one of my favorite chapters to write; it's also one of the longest.**

**DISCLAIMER: I want to thank Matt711 for allowing me to borrow his character, 'Phobos', from his upcoming story (which I highly recommend everyone keep an eye out for). We've been collaborating working together for several months now, and have really come up with some great ideas. **

**Thanks so much for reading! **

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Fingering the silver clasp on his thick wool cloak, Deimos gave a small sigh. While the night in Stormwind didn't call for such protection from the weather, the young elf knew Silvermoon's frigid temperatures would. The lingering fall was fast approaching winter; the golden and red leaves on the trees beginning to blanket the floor in the human city. Located on the most northern tip of the continent, Silvermoon was vastly colder than Stormwind; a climate the young elf had grown accustomed to. Fidgeting uncomfortably from one foot to the other due to the heat the insolating cloak offered, Deimos only wished he waited to adorn the piece of clothing. While it was wise and sensible for him to wear it prior to arriving in the Sin'dorei capital, the young elf felt his temperature rising uncomfortably.

Standing in the mage tower with a handful of other blood elves, also donning similar clothing in preparation for their return to Silvermoon, Deimos spared a quick glance around him. Residing close to his son, Tharsis exchanged words of forced pleasantries with a human diplomat. Smirking while he eyed his father's impatient stance, the paladin knew the older elf was itching to end the conversation; though manners and etiquette dictated his actions otherwise. Still harboring ill-content towards the older Ares'mar, Deimos tore his gaze away from him; the less time he'd have to spend with him, the better.

Overhearing Lor'themar begin to exchange gratitude and departing good byes with the king, the young elf heaved a frustrated sigh. The remainder of the week had come and gone; the meetings and discussions between the Sin'dorei and Alliance concluding with splendor. Officially aligned with the faction, many more negotiations and treaties had to be decided upon; trade and passage agreements being one of them. Deciding to hold the next set of conferences in Silvermoon City, King Varian and Lor'themar agreed to schedule it in several months time. An ambassador would be assigned from the Sin'dorei, who would arrive within a week to Stormwind in Deimos' place.

The past days for the young elf had passed faster than he would have liked, his mind trying in vain to seek holes in his father's scheme. Finding none, Deimos knew it was useless; Tharsis wanted him back in Silvermoon for one reason or another, and the older elf would get what he wanted. He rarely ran into Brightwing; the ranger-general strangely keeping a wide birth from the younger elf. The paladin had packed the few belongings he possessed, consisting of several pairs of clothes and his sword.

Giving a frustrated sigh at the pulsing warmth that consumed his body, Deimos made up his mind. Either they had to leave for Silvermoon soon, or the cloak was going. Hearing Brightwing discuss a military tactic that he believed would be useful in the Blasted Lands with a human general, the paladin figured the latter was the most probable option. His fingers beginning to unfasten the silver clasp that held the thick cloak around his form, Deimos allowed an irritated breath leave his lips. Being required to leave the human city that he was so fond of was torment enough, but to be forced to overheat and boil while waiting was torture. As his fingers worked the fussy clasp to unhook it, a strong hand gripped his forearm, hindering his movements.

Sending a curious glance at the elf holding him, Deimos met his father's stern eyes. "_Seiel'nuanas. Fiaelsu'nous ashthsu._" (**Leave it on. We'll be departing soon**).

Sighing while he allowed one hand to drop limply to his side, the young elf fastened the silver clasp back together. Glaring at his father in contempt, he couldn't hide the malice in his voice. "_Mema_." (**Fine**)

Brows up in amusement at his son's sour attitude, the older elf gave an entertained smirk. Watching with interest as Deimos rebelliously broke eye contact with him, Tharsis figured that if the boy wanted to be bitter towards the situation, then so be it. However, the commander could only tolerate his defiant attitude for so long.

Turning his head as he heard two sets of footsteps make their way across the tiled floor, Deimos gave a tight grin. Moving towards him was Warren and Matheus; the rogue having a sad smile on his face while the commander kept his expression blank and impassive. Hesitantly glancing to the side as the two approached him, Deimos was relieved to find Tharsis continuing his discussion with a human officer. Somewhat grateful that he was given such a small amount of privacy from his father, Deimos smiled at the two humans. "Is this my going-away party?"

Returning the smile, Matheus stopped in front of the paladin with a large sigh. "I'm going to miss you, Kid. Promise that you'll come visit when you can?"

His gaze hardening as he glanced at the older Ares'mar residing next to him, Deimos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, when I'm allowed to, I will. But once the orbs are working, you should come visit Silvermoon."

Grinning at the thought of a new city with a new set of women, the rogue allowed his grin to deepen. "Definitely. I'll keep an eye on the construction of the orbs." Pausing to watch the young elf vaguely nod, his fair face sour with disdain at the thought of leaving, Matheus abruptly embraced the him in a hug. Being sure to keep his voice low, the rogue addressed the paladin in a hushed whisper. "If you ever want to runaway, I've got an empty couch and a pantry full of bourbon."

Breaking the embrace with a grateful grin at his friend's offer, Deimos gave a small nod of his head. "I'll keep that in mind; though I'm not sure I'd survive the night on your couch."

Chuckling at the jab to his untidy apartment, Matheus clasped the paladin on the shoulder. "You better write me, Kid. I want to hear when you finally get laid. And I want details; her height, where it was, any dirty talk, the size of her-"

A cough to the side caught their attention, Deimos and Matheus turning to see Tharsis' stern face glaring back. His fair cheeks reddening in embarrassment and humiliation, Deimos watched his father cross his arms over his chest and shift his weight from one foot the other. "I'm so proud to see the caliber of company you surround yourself with, Deimos."

Feeling his face burn a darker shade of red, the paladin glared at the older elf for a moment before turning towards the surprised and slightly offended rogue. "I'll be sure to write, Matheus."

Nodding, his eyes darting between the scrutinizing gaze from Tharsis and Deimos' face, the rogue scratched the nape of his neck nervously. A presence behind him drew his attention away from the examining eyes as he turned his head. Warren stood calmly beside the rogue, his blank expression focused on Deimos' face. The warrior's presence only seemed to cause the older Ares'mar to scowl deeper, his crossed arms tightening. Feeling the hovering elf over his shoulder, Deimos sent a glare at his father. "Can I at least have some space to say good bye?"

Lifting an uninterested brow at his son's tone, Tharsis sent a warning glance to Warren; who seemed to return the glare with equal hostility. The older elf glanced over his shoulder, watching a Sin'dorei mage prepare the portal back to Silvermoon. "Be quick. We'll be leaving soon."

His gaze lingering on Tharsis as moved towards the group of blood elves, Warren gave a small grin to the younger elf; whose irritation and annoyance seeped from his body. "I know this is a rubbish situation, Deimos, but try not to make it any harder on yourself. Your father may still come around."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the paladin rolled his eyes. "You obviously don't know him."

Sighing at the stubborn elf, the warrior gave a small nod. "Then, like I said, try not to make it worse for you. I'm sure you'll be allowed to visit eventually."

Swallowing hard, Deimos shook his head in anger with a snort. "Yeah, in eighty years when I'm an adult." Pausing to look at the man's solemn face, the young elf allowed a small sigh to go past his lips. "Sorry. You're right; maybe a miracle will happen and he'll let me off my leash."

Chuckling at the sarcastic reply, Warren grinned. "That's the spirit." Leaning forward to give a quick hug to the boy, the warrior exchanged an angry glare with Tharsis watching from a distance. "Take care of yourself."

Pulling from the embrace, Deimos nodded. "I always do."

"Deimos! It's time to go."

Turning around to look at Tharsis, who was standing next to the swirling mist of air the mage conjured, Deimos swallowed hard. The anger and contempt he felt resonating through his body was threatening to explode; furious words and actions begging to be released. Moving his gaze from his waiting father to Brightwing, the young elf was unsure what to make of the ranger-general. He seemed just as much in unease standing next to Tharsis as Deimos did; his aggravated eyes giving away his blank and somber expression.

Sighing, Deimos reluctantly grabbed the small bag resting next to him as he approached the waiting blood elves. Readjusting the long sword resting on his back, the paladin grudgingly made his way to join his race by the opened portal. Reaching his father's side, the young elf felt his gaze bore into him as he eyed the portal with disdain; its purpose the reason for his anger.

"Deimos! Wait!"

Whipping his head around at the sound of his name, Deimos scanned the room for the voice. Brows together in confusion at the lack of presence, the young elf nearly lost his balance backwards as a small force propelled itself on his legs. Taking an uneasy step backwards, the paladin let out a surprised groan as he glanced down. Clinging to his lower appendages was a small gnome, her pink hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

"Hi, Lena. You should really give me a heads up before doing that."

Sobbing into the leather pants, the small mage increased her grip around his legs. "Y-you can't depart, Deimos! We've developed a profound… and… and… remarkable affinity. I'll miss you too much!"

Hearing a chuckle next to him, Deimos turned questioning eyes to see Brightwing eyeing the girl with mirth. Still not comfortable and familiar with the gnome's peculiar behavior and emotional outbursts, the young elf gingerly patted her back in attempt to quell her sobs. "Lena, it's ok. I'll come back and visit. I promise."

Shaking her head furiously, the mage squeezed his legs harder; her cries increasing in amplitude. "That's a falsehood. We'll never see each other again." Pausing to sniff several times, the girl continued her cries. "And due to my sincere lack of dexterous portalling, the chances of me going to Silvermoon are less than 5.5 percent."

Lifting a brow in interest at the gnome, Deimos continued to pat her back; completely aware of the interested and amused stares from his fellow Sin'dorei. "Did you just figure out that percentage right now?"

Reluctantly unwrapping her small arms from his legs, Lena turned her tear-stained face up to meet Deimos'. "I vow to bestow supplementary time to better verse myself with the art of portals in hopes of someday itinerating to your capital."

Licking his lips as he slowly tried to digest the fast onslaught of words from the small girl, Deimos gave a small nod. He wasn't sure if the gnome was aware that he rarely understood her. "I'll miss you too, Lena."

An oversized hand on the gnome small shoulder gently lulled her backwards, Lena turning inquisitive eyes to meet Warren's calm and patient ones. Hesitantly understanding his silent gesture, the small mage took several steps back, giving the blood elf his personal space. Biting her lip while her water filled eyes gazed at him, Lena felt more tears stream down her cheeks.

Sighing, the small gnome's emotional explosion had only fueled the raging fire inside of Deimos. Though he found her presence rather strange and odd, usually not being able to follow her line of thinking or conversation, the young elf enjoyed her optimistic and cheerful outlook on life. She accepted everyone for who they were; not what they've done. Easily forgiving even the most pronounced criminals, Lena contrasted sharply with Deimos' pessimistic and cynical attitude. But for some unholy reason, the small girl had taken a particular liking in the Sin'dorei.

Turning around to face the portal, Deimos found it easier to block out the saddened and depressing feelings of leaving the human city by replacing them with angered and incensed emotions. He refused to accept that he was returning to the capital on his own accord; the threats and intimidations from his father still looming over his head. Turning his gaze on his father's impatient face, Deimos refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing him submissively accept his fate.

Sending several last words of gratitude to the waiting king and officers, Lor'themar entered the portal shortly after several officers walked through first. Glancing at the group of waiting humans, Brightwing gave a small tilt of his head and smile at Warren; who warmly returned the gesture before the ranger-general walked through the mist.

Feeling a gaze boring down on him, Deimos turned questioning eyes up at this father; who crossed his arms over his chest in a scolding manner. Lifting perplexed brows at the older elf, the paladin gestured at the opened portal. "Are you going to walk through or not?"

Smirking at his son, Tharsis gave him an amused look while shaking his head. Placing a strong hand on the shorter elf's shoulder, he gave a firm push towards the portal; Deimos immediately attempting to shrug the grip off. "And risk you _not_ going through? I don't think so; nice try, Deimos. Now go."

Pursing his lips in anger, the paladin brushed the hand off his body with malice, turning a heated glare at his father. Gripping the bag in his fist, the young elf narrowed his eyes at Tharsis. "If you're goal is make me hate you, then congratulations. You got it."

Chuckling at the resentment on his son's face, the older elf pushed him closer to the swirling mist. "Such drama and overreacting. And you wonder why I believe you're too immature to decide where you live?" Taking a step closer to the shorter elf, Tharsis allowed his amused gaze to harden as he glared down at him. "I will only tolerate these juvenile outbursts for so long, Deimos. Now go through the portal before I physically force you through it."

Tearing his enraged gaze away from his father, Deimos set his jaw as he walked through the enchanted air; knowing full well that while he would definitely return to Stormwind as an adult, the humans that he befriended would be long dead. The thought made him unable to turn around and spare one last glance at them; it would make leaving all the harder.

His green eyes lingering where his son used to stand, Tharsis felt a satisfied grin cross his face. Turning around to face the still waiting humans, the older elf allowed his amused gaze to fall on Warren's face. Immediately, the man assumed an irritated stance, his eyes flashing with anger. Standing beside the warrior was the small mage, rivers of tears traveling down her face. "I want to thank you, Warren Steele, for corrupting my son's mind." Pausing to allow a sadistic smile to cross his face at the darkened look that passed over the human's features, Tharsis continued with eagerness in his voice. "Now I get to undo the damage you've done by enforcing more… intense conditioning."

Growling in anger, Warren was unable to respond to the cruel comment in time before Tharsis gave a laugh as he walked through the shimmering portal. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, the man gritted his teeth in rage. A small sob pulled his attention downward, Lena's sobbing face looking up at him. "What-what does that mean?"

Sighing at the overtly emotional gnome, Warren distractedly patted her on the head in a poor attempt to subdue her cries. His attention, however, was drawn to the slowly disappearing portal. He was unsure what would transpire in the Sin'dorei capital; whether Deimos would somehow convince his father to give him some leeway or not. He only hoped that Brightwing would somehow talk sense into the older Ares'mar, allowing Deimos time to visit the human city. Sending a silent prayer to the Light, the man hoped the relationship between Deimos and Tharsis wouldn't strain even worse; for Deimos' sake.

* * *

Walking through the portal, Tharsis was immediately greeted with the aroma of burning incense. The room materializing around him, the elf glanced to the sides of him as he took in the familiar area. Standing in the middle of the portalling and mage room located in Sunfury Spire, the older elf took in the circular room covered with shelves; crammed books hanging half out. A lavish chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, the arcane powered light illuminated the black and maroon accented walls.

Sighing in relief to be back in his familiar city, Tharsis whipped his head around the area. The Sin'dorei officers were filing out of the portalling chambers, their spirits slightly higher at the prospect of being home. Lor'themar and Brightwing were nowhere in sight, the commander assumed they retired to their quarters located in the palace. His green eyes silently searching the soldiers bustling out of the room, Tharsis gave a sigh of frustration at not spotting his son amongst them.

Gritting his teeth, Tharsis presumed the boy, in his streak of rebellious manners, had taken it upon himself to find his own way home, not waiting for the older Ares'mar. It wasn't as if Deimos was inapt at navigating his own way through Silvermoon; he had lived within the city walls for the entirety of his life. However, due to the current state he was in, Tharsis questioned his motives and any possible brash attempts to flee. Mentally preparing a lecture for the boy on respect and obedience, Tharsis began his way towards the exit in the dim room. His gaze landing on a figure lingering in the outlet, the older elf lifted a surprised brow.

Arms crossed, Deimos leaned against the doorway, his stare concentrated on the tiled floor in front of him. His face unreadable and emotionless, the swirling green eyes had evidence of the rage still filling his body; his jaw clenched tightly shut. Feeling a gaze boring into him, the young elf turned his head to meet his father's surprised and amused face. Sighing angrily, the paladin uncrossed his arms and straightened to his full height. "Finally. Can we go now?"

Smirking as he approached Deimos, Tharsis offered the frustrated and sarcastic elf a small nod; eyeing the impatient stance he assumed. "For being so reluctant to come back to the city, you look quite eager to return home."

Rolling his eyes as the two began to make to their way out of the palace, Deimos fought with himself at replying with a smart retort. He knew he was pressing his father's patience as it was; his welled up frustration at the situation no longer able to remain quiet. Turning the corner to exit the Sunfury Spire, the young elf took in an audible breath of surprise at the sudden freezing night air that hit him in the face. Unconsciously pulling the woolen cloak around his shoulders tighter, the paladin had gotten quite comfortable with the cold yet tolerable temperatures Stormwind offered. The northern climate of Quel'Thalas was not as kind to the citizen of Silvermoon. Though the leaves of the trees remained connected to their hosts, their orange and red color never fading, and the planted flowers never drooped, the near winter temperature made Deimos' teeth clatter. The air around his face fogging with each breath, the young elf tried futilely to increase his pace in anticipation of reaching the house faster; hoping that his father would match the enhanced speed.

Giving a small laugh at Deimos' reaction to the frosty climate, Tharsis refused to equal the amplified walking speed; his strides remaining their usual calmness and paced rate. "You've gotten too used to the human city that you've forgotten your own."

Glancing up at the full moon that illuminated the deserted city, Deimos unsuccessfully tried to quell the angered emotions in him. The placement of the moon gave evidence to the late night; the only movement around the neighborhood being from arcane guards and stationed soldiers. The palace behind them, the two elves made their way towards their home that was located in the same neighborhood, the Court of the Sun.

Stopping in front of a large two story dwelling, Deimos felt a comforting feeling overcome his body while he waited for his father to unlock the front door. While he still longed to return to Stormwind, he couldn't conceal the natural soothing sensations being home offered. Having grown up in the house, the young elf felt sentimental feelings towards the dwellings; no matter how many bad memories also riddled the structure. Glancing up, the paladin eyed the last window on the right side of the house; his bedroom window. The scarlet red silk drapes shifted as the wind blew through them; the lack of lighting giving evidence to its vacant habitat. His gaze moving down to his father, Deimos met amused green eyes looking back at him. "Having second thoughts about wanting to return to that filthy human city?"

Scowling at his father's ability to easily read his features, Deimos shook his head furiously as he followed him into the dwelling. "I would gladly choose Stormwind over this."

Shutting the front door after the young elf entered the threshold, Tharsis locked the walnut door in annoyance and gave a waving hand gesture in the air. Immediately, the large house was illuminated in brilliant light, arcane energy acting as the source. A lush chandelier hung in the entry, its shimmering dust disappearing before it reached the shined, black marbled floor covered with a blood red carpet. Resting directly under the hanging light was a small, purple circular table accented in gold; a large arrangement of exotic flowers sparkling with an enchantment. Interestingly, Deimos couldn't remember the last time the vase of flora was changed. The elaborately carved wooden ceiling was elevated, making the entry of the house all the more grander and imposing. The generous foyer was in a rounded shape, a circular elevating ramp with a golden rail beginning on the right side of the lavishly decorated area. Located straight ahead under the ramp was an intrinsically carved archway; bountiful blue silks hanging in the doorway. To the left and right were similar archways; one slightly larger and more imposing than the other. Deimos knew that the dwelling was considered immaculate and posh; though his father's attitude would never allude that he lived in such a setting. While the older Ares'mar was wealthy and prosperous, he saw little benefit in flaunting such an attribute; a quality he passed on to Deimos as well.

About to make his way to the ramp to go to his room located on the second floor, a strong hand on his shoulder caused the younger elf to turn around. His rebellious and defiant attitude quickly dissipated as he met his father's dominant and strict gaze. "I will not tolerate this attitude of yours. Either knock it off, or I will knock it out of you."

His eyes flashing in anger, Deimos had to urge himself to not respond in a cocky and arrogant fashion he was tempted to do. Pursing his lips, the paladin gave a small and quick nod of his head, ripping his shoulder free of the harsh grasp. Gripping the bag in his hand tighter, the young elf quickly moved up the ramp; knowing full well that his father's gaze was boring into the back of him.

Sighing as he reached the second floor, Deimos glanced around the long open hallway. It was exactly as he had known it to be growing up. On the far left side of the hall was a large doorway, thick hanging silks of blue and purple concealing the room behind it. The only bedroom with an increase in privacy, other than the bathrooms, the master bedroom had intricate woodwork over the archway. Moving to the right from Tharsis' room were two identical doorways; the blue silk drapes showing the spare bedrooms similar furnishings. In between the two spare bedrooms was a small doorway; the wood work not nearly as complex as the others. The bulky hanging silks hanging in the bathroom entrance offered more privacy than the other rooms. Swallowing as his eyes landed on the doorway at the far right side of the hall, Deimos gave a relieved sigh. Moving towards his room, the young elf pushed back the purple silks to reveal his chambers.

It was just as he left it; not a single article moved from its place. A smaller version of the elaborate chandelier from the foyer hung from the ceiling, the icy blue glow lighting up the large area. A well-groomed purple rug rested in the middle of the room, black and gold swirled marble making up the flooring. The walls were carved delicately from red woods, golden accents embellishing the woodwork. Blue silks hung from the corners of the room, the cloth blowing when the cold wind would hit it. Against the wall with the doorway was a rounded large bed, numerous pillows scattered at the head of the piece of furniture. Suspended in the air by arcane magic, cascading sheer silk enclosed the bed in a semi-circle. On the wall adjacent to the bed was a generously opened window, the red silks billowing in the wind. While the room had a chill to it, it wasn't anywhere near the true cold night; the open windows enchanted to hold the warmth of the house in. Facing the wall across from the bed was a beautifully crafted desk; the dark wood accented with lines of gold and red. A similar chair was pushed in, waiting to be used. On the wall opposite from the window was another doorway; the thick silks to the lavatory offering the same privacy the other bathroom did. Next to the bathroom was a significantly smaller doorway with only a thin draping of silk, the contents of the closet easily seen through the sheer fabric.

The room was kept neat and tidy, the bed's purple Netherweave comforter free of wrinkles. Swords of different shapes hung on a wall, one of the only indications the room wasn't vacant. Resting amongst the pillows on the bed was a small stuffed Pandaren, its fading color and worn fur showing the strong bond it had with an elfling. Sighing while he dropped the bag onto the ground indifferently, Deimos unstrapped the long sword from his back; tossing it to the bed without much thought. Unclasping the cloak around him, the young elf let it fall to the floor. Pushing back the thin silks from the closet, the paladin didn't have to think where his hands went to grab for the clothing; years of following the same routine etched the location of the clothes in his mind. His hands gripping a pair of loose night pants and a simple black shirt, Deimos moved mechanically from the closet to the bathroom.

Sparing a quick glance at himself in the large mirror hanging on the wall, Deimos gave a sigh. The bathroom followed the same decorations as the rest of the house; arcane sconces lit up the small space. A large bathtub rested against the wall, though Deimos preferred the enchanted stream of water that would fall from the ceiling upon command. His mind thinking back to Warren's house, Deimos felt his emotions were torn. The feelings of being home serenaded him, offering him soothing and calmness that the sentiment of the familiar setting often did when returning home from battle or a mission. Taking his boots off, Deimos also knew that he still longed to return to Stormwind; his friends and happiness lied there. There were no companionships formed in Silvermoon for the boy to look forward to; no friends to share stories over drinks in a tavern with. The only elf he remotely considered a friend was his older cousin, Phobos, who was usually preoccupied with military business. Pulling the shirt off over his head, the paladin quickly replaced it with the short-sleeved black one. His freedoms and independence was vastly restricted in Silvermoon; his father dominating his days with training and practices. Discarding the leather pants for the loose-fitting Netherweave ones, the paladin gave a deep sigh as he reminded himself who he sharing the house with. He would return to Stormwind in a heartbeat.

Scratching the nape of his neck as he exited the small bathroom, Deimos felt the cool wind from the silent night brush against his bare arms, bumps rising on his fair skin from the chill. Stopping dead in his tracks, the young elf whipped his head towards the doorway to his room; meeting blank green eyes staring back at him.

Rolling his eyes, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. "I forgot, you don't knock."

Lifting an amused brow up at the comment, Tharsis entered his son's bedroom further. Eyeing the long sword dumped unceremoniously on the bed, the older elf scowled at the paladin. "The first thing you learned in training was how to take proper care of your weapon. This is unacceptable, Deimos. You know better."

A blush rushing up to his fair cheeks at the demeaning lecture, Deimos briskly walked forward, his hands plucking the long sword from the purple bed. Moving around with a sigh, the paladin placed it on holding pegs in the wall. Turning around with an impatient stance and crossing his arms, the younger elf raised his brows edgily at the older elf. "Satisfied?"

His scowl deepening at the manner displayed from the young elf, Tharsis cocked his head to the side with a disapproving yet perplexed look. "This brazen attitude stops now, Deimos. I will not put up with it." Pausing, the older elf watched with pleasure as Deimos sent his ashamed eyes downcast. Eying the obedient expression pass over his son's features, Tharsis placed an armful of folded fabric on the bed. "Here. I know you haven't been back since spring so you'll need to change out your bedding for thicker material; unless the savage human's taught you how to sleep in uncomfortable temperatures."

His green eyes examining the folded blanket on his bed skeptically, Deimos promptly ignored the jab at the race that he had befriended. Uncrossing his arms while he shifted from one foot to the other, the young elf sheepishly looked up at his waiting father. "Thank you."

Sighing, the older elf smirked darkly at the paladin, his eyes roaming the room. "There's nothing to thank. I'm not having you get sick and fall behind on training that I'm sure you've already suffered from living in Stormwind." Pausing, the older elf eyed the paladin's clothing, a satisfied look going across his face. "Get to sleep. Training picks up tomorrow; we can see what damage has been done. Be up at 0600.

Watching his father push back the draped silk in the doorway and exit the room, Deimos gave a defeated sigh. He knew the daily routine well enough; he grew up with it. Moving towards his welcoming bed, the young elf ripped the Netherweave comforter from its once neatly made position. Dropping the blanket to the ground, the elf made no attempt to complete the task in a tidy manner; having no intentions on picking the discarded blanket up. Beginning to unfold the heavy Frostweave coverlet, the expensive fabric causing his skin to erupt in pleasure, Deimos eyed the pillows that were pulled to the marbled floor. Resting amongst the various shaped and sized pillows was the small stuffed Pandaren, fallen on its side. Draping the blanket over the mattress messily, the paladin tossed the pillows back at the head of the bed; his hand hesitantly picking up the stuffed animal.

It wasn't as if he required the companionship and childish love the stuffed Pandaren once offered him as an elfling, but Deimos couldn't bring himself to discard the toy. Eyeing the small animal in his hands, the young elf felt a strange and peculiar attachment to the object, it's existence giving him joyful memories. Growing up, his father detested toys and playthings of any kind; forbidding Deimos from playing with such objects. Tharsis felt that if the elfling had energy, it could be better utilized on the practice fields instead of wasting time with worthless items. However, Deimos had one memory back when he was traveling with his father's battalion on a campaign, his tender age of barely six finding the whole notion of traveling fascinating. The camp had been raided by an unexpected company of Alliance soldiers at night, the sudden attack taking many of the Sin'dorei by surprise. Deimos' memory of the night was sparse and riddled with holes; though he clearly remembered the night elf that charged him, daggers drawn. Just beginning his warrior training several years prior, the young elf futilely attempted to thwart off the stronger attack. It ended badly. Waking up in the healer's tent, Tharsis' worried face looking down at him, it was one of the few times Deimos could remember concern and worry in his father's eyes for his well-being. The paladin recalled his father apologizing profusely, though at the time Deimos hadn't a clue what he was referring to; the young elf thought he had failed his father instead. It was during his recovery that Tharsis gave the Pandaren to the young elf. Since then, Deimos found comfort in the toy.

Crawling into the bed as he heard movement around the house, Deimos placed the stuffed animal on one of the pillows. Pulling the thick blanket up around his form, the paladin couldn't stop the relieved sigh that blew past his lips. The pillow-top mattress easily shaped around his figure; the feathery material immediately seducing him to sleep. The down pillows following suit, Deimos gave a small wave of his hand in the air; the chandelier and bathroom sconces ceased the arcane glow that once illuminated from them. The lights from the hall leaked on half of the black marbled floor, though the spilling light didn't hinder his ability to fall into a slumber. His ears picking up more sounds from the older Ares'mar moving around the house, Deimos allowed his tired body to give up, his eyes closing and body falling into a rapid sleep.

* * *

Sighing at the report in front of him, Tharsis ran a tired and impatient hand over his face. The thick pieces of parchment that made up the information indicated that the older elf would be forced to endure the boring account for a prolonged period. Having sent one of his novice rogues to run a scheduled inspection of the Dead Scar, the commander was stunned at the lengthy report the eager scout completed. For a monthly reconnaissance mission to produce such a vast description of the destructed path, the older elf knew he would not be assigning the rogue the mission again. It was painfully obvious the young scout was trying vainly to impress his commander.

Growling in frustration while he flipped the page to only read what he swore he read three pages prior, Tharsis leaned back in his chair. The study and library, located on the first floor to the right from the foyer, was where he spent majority of his time when at the abode. The elevated and tall ceiling made the area look more majestic, the shining red marble floor reflecting the numerous arcane candelabras decorating the space. A long table rested on top of a purple rug, its delicately carved woods complimenting the similar chairs. Covering all of the walls were bookshelves that reach the top of the tall ceiling; books and scrolls crammed into the spaces. White couches with orange and red pillows were placed around the room; the upholstery sparkling with cleanliness. Nestled in the corner was a desk; its elaborate and lavish wood work making it look all the more imposing. Large windows blew a cool morning breeze through the library; the pages of parchment resting on his desk fluttering with the wind.

Eyeing the small clock on his desk that read 0607, Tharsis gave a sigh as he sent his eyes to the ceiling; his ears straining to hear movement from above him. Waiting several beats, his respiration the only sound that met his ears, the commander gave a frustrated groan as he pushed the chair back; the wooden legs making a rubbing noise against the ground. His boots echoing off the marbled floor as he took long strides across the threshold, Tharsis shook his head slightly. Stormwind had affected Deimos is more negative way than he had hoped; damaging the rigorous and meticulous training the commander had taken great care in putting his son through. His defiant and bold attitude was frustrating and maddening; Tharsis demanding only obedience and submission from his son. He had given the boy leeway and patience yesterday; a privilege Deimos wouldn't be granted any longer.

Pushing the silks to the side, Tharsis entered the foyer, turning immediately to the right to ascend the elevating ramp. Reaching the second floor, the commander felt his face fall into a scowl at the lack of movement from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Clenching his teeth in frustration while he strode down the hallway, the older elf heaved a deep sigh. The lack of running water negated the possibility of the younger elf preparing himself for the day in his bathroom; the silence emitting from the region of the house disheartening.

Pushing back the silk that hung in the doorway, Tharsis felt his hands grip into fists as he turned his attention to the rounded purple bed. The dawning sun rising on the horizon began to sprinkle rays of sunshine into the room; the morning bugs singing their tunes to the citizens of Silvermoon. The day was still too early for the sounds of bustling people to be heard in the neighborhood; many most likely just waking from their slumbers. The sound of a deep respiration filled the space which frustrated Tharsis more. Glancing at the mound of thick fabric in the middle of the bed, the commander took an angered step forward. His eyes landed on Deimos' sleeping face resting on one of the pillows, completely lifeless to the world. The young elf didn't stir or shift to the new presence, giving evidence to the heavy slumber that enveloped his mind. Growling in anger at the lack of respect and esteem demonstrated by the paladin, Tharsis gave a strong jerk of his hand on his son's shoulder. The youth's fair face not alluding to being pulled from the sleep, the older elf increased the harshness of the shake.

Shifting slightly, Deimos gave a small moan in protest. "Screw off, Old School. It's still early."

The hand increasing its grip on the young elf's bicep, Tharsis felt his blood boil at the insulting words spoken in Common. He wasn't sure if he was angrier with the language used or the rude comment spoken back to him. "Excuse me? What did you say to me?"

The closed lids slowly fluttering open in confusion, Deimos' tired eyes met the furious green ones of his father. Disoriented as he glanced around himself, the young elf sighed as the memory of being forced to return to Silvermoon came crashing down on him. Scratching his messy hair, the paladin allowed his eyes to close again; his speech easily switching back to Thalassian. "I'm so tired. What time is it?"

His hardened and stern gaze only igniting into more fury at the lack of response from the elf, Tharsis squeezed his lips. "It's after 0600. Get out of bed. Now."

Moving towards the doorway, the older Ares'mar gave an impatient sigh. His lenience for the boy had long dwindled out, the prospect of hammering his obedience back into his mind sounded more appealing. About to pull the silk to the side to exit the room, Tharsis turned his head, expecting to see Deimos rising from the bed, only to find the boy back asleep.

Snarling in anger at the insolent elf, Tharsis reached the bed in two large steps, his body leaning over the paladin. One hand gripping his shoulder, the older elf allowed the other hand to grasp his short blonde hair into a fist and give a fierce thrust upwards. Immediately, the paladin's eyes snapped open; his face grimacing in pain as he was dragged from the warming and comforting bed. Imploring and pained eyes met his father's angry and rage filled ones. Half dragged and half walking, Deimos winced as his body was forced to his feet by the hand entangled in his hair and iron-clad grip on his shoulder pulling him across the room.

"When I said to be up at 0600, I meant it." Making his way towards the connected bathroom, Tharsis spared an annoyed look at his son's flinching face. Deimos tried futilely to ease the tension on his hair by gripping the taller elf's wrist with one hand while the other focused on keeping his balance.

The hand seizing his head tighter, the paladin was propelled forward; landing hard on his knees in the bathroom with a thud. Scratching where the vice grip twisted his hair, Deimos stood shakily to his feet, eyeing his father's deathly calm face; though his eyes gave away the true angered emotions. "Shower and meet me in the kitchen. You've got ten minutes."

Taking in his father's aggressive stance, Deimos obediently nodded his head, his eyes falling to the floor respectfully. He knew the look in the older elf's eyes; the tolerance for his rebellious streak had long run out. He was lucky to walk away with only a slight head ache.

Scrutinizing the submissive attitude and stance his son assumed, Tharsis gave a dark smirk; slowly approaching the younger elf with sick pleasure. Gripping Deimos' jaw between his thumb and index finger, the commander tilted his head up to inspect the blank and dutiful face, though his eyes still lingered with fatigue. Savoring the familiar and known manner from his son, Tharsis gave a sinister grin. "I'm glad to see it didn't take long for that rebellious attitude to die down. You only needed some reminding."

Blinking several times, Deimos fought himself to not tear his head free of the grasp in fear of angering his father worse. Instead, he struggled to keep an impassive face, his eyes locking with the older elf's. The sadistic satisfaction on Tharsis' face made his skin crawl; his stomach flipping at the dark grin. The older elf held the gaze for several beats, his laughing stare inspecting the boy's face attempting to hold the somber look.

Smirking, Tharsis removed his hand and took a step backwards. "You've got nine minutes. I best see you downstairs by then, or I _will_ come get you."

Releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding after his father left the bathroom, Deimos turned towards the bathtub. With a quick twist of his hand in the empty air, a steady stream of warm water began to pour from an unseen source above the tub. Hearing footsteps in the hall, Deimos shook his head, annoyed at himself. He had allowed his father to claim his dominance over his body, his compliant behavior only reaffirming Tharsis' hold on him. Sighing as he pulled his night shirt over his head, the young elf knew it would prove to be useless to fight it. The older Ares'mar would only reinforce the submissive manner back into him with force. His hand falling on the small ruby pendant resting on his chest, Deimos felt a furious urge to rip the necklace off. The black and white markings on the ruby were his family's mark; the necklace being an heirloom that was passed down the Ares'mar line. Tharsis had presented the necklace as a gift to his son after a raid on Stormwind almost five years ago; the paladin making his father proud from his efforts in the raid. Biting his lower lip in thought, Deimos longed to see such proudness from his father again. Sighing as he removed the loose pants, tossing them in a pile with the discarded shirt, Deimos knew he was being timed; the looming threat of being pulled out of the shower naked fueling his movements to a fast pace.

* * *

Sipping the honeymint tea, Tharsis eyed the long report from the rogue. Giving up on full-heartedly reading it, the commander settled for skimming the redundant words. He was going to be sure to give the rogue a long-winded lecture about wasting his precious time with unnecessarily long accounts for a one day mission. No longer sitting in his study, Tharsis glanced at the clock that hung on the kitchen wall; Deimos had less than two minutes to finish his daily preparation. Giving a slight shake of his head at the prospect of having to drag the boy from the shower, the older man would do what he'd have to.

The kitchen, its doorway located under the elevated ramp that led to the second floor, had the same black marbled floor as the foyer. To the left side of the room was a small square table; its modest yet elegantly carved wood littered with the parchment stack Tharsis mulled over. Four similar chairs were pushed in around its base; one of the chairs already occupied. A large chest, enchanted to keep food cold, rested in the far corner of the room. Granite red countertops accented nicely with the dark wooden shelving and cabinets; the entirety of the kitchen in immaculate order. A cooking stove rested against the wall, the lack of heat evidencing to its current state of disuse.

Hearing footsteps enter the kitchen, Tharsis didn't have to lift his eyes from the boring report to acknowledge his son. "Almost thirty seconds left. Cutting it a little short."

Running a hand through his still damp hair, Deimos rolled his eyes, knowing the older elf would be unable to see with his head down. Retrieving a small glass from a cabinet, the elf mechanically navigated through the kitchen; growing up in the house causing him to memorize the location of objects. Pulling open the upright chest to grab a pitcher of sweetened goat's milk, Deimos poured himself the beverage in blissful silence. Replacing the jug back to the cold storage chest, the young elf turned around; leaning his body against the countertop while sipping the milk. Eyeing Tharsis' irritated and impatient look while his eyes skimmed the words on the parchment in front of him, Deimos scrunched his brows together in interest.

Moving to sit at the table with his glass in hand, the paladin tried to spare a glance at the stack of paper. "What's that?"

Quickly glancing at the curious gaze his son offered him, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. "A ridiculously long report from the Dead Scar." Pausing to see the still interested and inquisitive look in Deimos' eyes, the older elf smirked; collecting all the parchment into a neat stack before pushing it towards the paladin. "Here. Read this by tomorrow night; I want a full summary what this rogue found so interesting there."

Taking a quick sip of the milk to resist a sarcastic and cynical response, Deimos reluctantly accepted the new order. Had it been any other report or reconnaissance account, the young elf would have felt honored to be given such a task. Eyeing the needlessly thick mound of parchment, he knew he was just a convenience for his father. "What are we doing today?"

Stealing a small taste from the tea, the commander stood from his chair while he moved to a cabinet; searching for an item in mind. Opening several doors only to close them empty handed, Tharsis continued his search. Neither him nor Deimos cooked; a hired chef prepared their meals at the house daily. Satisfied when his hunting produced the results he wanted, Tharsis grabbed a bag of sweet potato bread. Dropping it in front of Deimos, the older elf resumed his position at the table. "Eat. We're going to start with endurance and conditioning; I want to assess how bad of shape you're in first. After lunch, we'll work on swordsmanship."

Eyeing the bag of bread in front of him, Deimos gave it a small push forward with a shake of his head. "I'm not hungry."

Firmly pushing the bread back towards the younger elf in a battle of wills, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest; his gaze stern. "You will be in an hour or so; and we're not breaking to eat until lunch. You'll need the energy."

Sighing at the strict tone in his father's voice, not allowing for any more arguments, Deimos reluctantly pulled a piece of bread from the bag. His freedoms were slowly being ripped from his body; Tharsis taking great pleasure in dominating all aspects of the younger elf's life. A thought rapidly coming to his mind, Deimos swallowed a mouthful of his meager breakfast before addressing his father. "Is Phobos in the city?"

Downing what remained of the sweet tea, Tharsis shook his head. "Not yet. He's finishing a mission in Northrend. I expect him back within several weeks, though."

Nodding at the response, Deimos couldn't quell the disappointment and distress that swelled in his chest at his cousin's absence. Though Phobos was nearly a hundred years older than him, he found great pleasure in his company. Leaving his warrior training to become a paladin when he was young, Deimos partially credited Phobos for the decision. Watching his older cousin duel and train beside warriors, the young elf was amazed at a paladin's ease to heal. Idolizing and admiring Phobos' fierce and honed skills, Deimos informed Tharsis of his switch of classes; much to his father's dissatisfaction.

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, Deimos gave a small shake of his head. "I'm so tired. It's weird; I'd usually get up at this time back in Stormwind, but I'm exhausted."

Standing up from the table with the empty cup, Tharsis placed it in the sink for later cleaning. "There's a time change between the cities." Pausing to turn around, the older elf met the paladin's curious face. "You probably feel it's around 0400."

Finishing the milk in his glass, Deimos placed it in the sink alongside the other cup. "Great."

"You'll get over it fast." Pausing, Tharsis gave a hand gesture to the young elf to follow him, his own movements heading towards the doorway. "Now, please tell me you've continued your daily meditation in Stormwind and I don't have to detoxify you."

Rolling his eyes at the derisive tone in his father's voice, Deimos couldn't stop the ironic smirk that crossed his face. He wouldn't tell his father, but he'd once had to detoxify himself. Copiously and shamefully drinking demon blood to fill his body with an unnatural amount of mana, the paladin had saved the king of Stormwind; an act that allowed for his pardon to leave the human city and inform Lor'themar of the impending attack. "I've meditated every day."

The two elves entering the main foyer, Tharsis led his son through the doorway opposite from the library; its larger and more intricate woodwork giving away to the elaborate and grand room on the other side. Entering the parlor, the sounds of their boots landing on the gold speckled, black marbled floor echoed through large space. The ceiling reached the roof of the house; an immense and luxurious chandelier hanging from the detailed wood carved ceiling; its arcane glow illuminating the red and black walls. The parlor was the largest area in the house with an entire wall made up of floor to ceiling windows; red silk curtains waving from the wind. Red over-stuffed armchairs were mixed with white couches, and small coffee tables scattered throughout the area. Two doorways completed the room; one leading to an immaculate and impressive dining room and the other to their destination.

Watching his father pull back the silk hanging in the doorway to their objective room, Deimos immediately felt a change in climate. Leaving the parlor, the two entered a luxurious and majestic garden; the sounds of running streams and birds filling his ears. The large room was roofless, the blue sky gazing down at them. A small winding path made of cobblestones weaved between thick throngs of green bamboo and palm trees; exotic flower beds of orchids and dahlia's lining the path. A creek made of rocks ran through the garden; brilliant pink and white locus' floating on the surface of the water. There were small waterfalls inserted throughout the twisting creek; the sound of trickling water adding to the Zen induced atmosphere.

Glancing up at the bright sun, Deimos knew it was all an illusion; the product of an enchanted room. Passing by a shrub of jasmine, the beautiful smell filling his senses, the young elf never bore from the magically-induced room. Such an area was rare and seen as a luxury in a house; the need for a practiced enchanter to create the room was expensive. Following behind his father, Deimos felt the area offered more to the older elf than simply a relaxed location for meditation. Several years back, Brightwing had reluctantly told the young elf the history of the room. Shortly after the Scourge attack, Deimos' parents had built the house; his mother claiming the area for her own personal use. A trained enchanter herself, she spent hours perfecting the magic in the room to create the illusion of the garden. The paladin knew his father still grieved for his wife in his own way; the room must have offered more feelings for the older elf than it did Deimos.

Pausing at a clearing in the lush forest, two plush pillows sat side by side on the ground. Unthinkingly, Deimos pulled his boots off; his father following suit. "Am I going to need my sword and armor today?"

"Leave the armor at home." Tharsis paused, a dark and mocking smile crossing his face as he eyed his son removing his shirt. "You're better at healing spells so it shouldn't be a problem."

Sitting crossed legged on the pillow to begin the meditation, Deimos set his jaw in annoyance at the sarcastic remark towards his trainer from Stormwind. While he figured the older elf would be bitter towards his human replacement, the paladin prayed the comments and jabs would desist. He father had won the battle of forcing him back to Silvermoon, though he still wasn't satisfied at letting the situation go. Deimos would force himself to get through the day's ordeals; figuring he'd mechanically complete the tasks his father sent his way. No longer in the company of his friends, he felt no desire to surpass the requested amount of him. A scowl going across his face, the young elf would offer his father the absolute minimal effort needed.

* * *

The sunlight graced the Sin'dorei city with its rays, though it did naught to ease the frigid wind that blew through the streets. The ending fall would soon progress to winter; the climate only growing all the worse. Though it rarely snowed in Quel'Thalas, the temperatures would be more than adequate to supply an environment for it. However, there was still several more weeks until the fall weather died down, only to be replaced with the new season. The citizens of Silvermoon were wrapped in thick cloaks, even the guards standing watch were adorned in the material over their armor to hide from the harsh winds.

Hoisting his weight upwards to complete the pull up, Deimos appeared atypical compared to the other citizens. Bare chested, a sheen layer of sweat covered his upper torso; his blonde hair plastered to his forehead from the warm liquid. The rigorousness of the endurance drills caused his body temperature to steadily rise; quickly feeling the woolen cloak and Netherweave shirt too confining for his body. Nearly an hour ago, in the midst of completing a drill, the paladin had discarded both to the ground. The freezing wind slamming into his bare torso didn't bother him; he hardly noticed such a sensation from the maneuvers on his mind. In all reality, he was quite enjoying the endurance practice. The morning had commenced with a five mile run; a simple feat for the elf to complete. Tharsis had brought him to Farstrider Square, the military district of Silvermoon City, to begin the more intense conditioning. He completed sit-ups and push-ups for an hour each, respectfully, before being given the drill of pull ups for an hour. Feeling a presence on the side of him, Deimos easily held the pull up for several seconds while he glanced to the side. A fascinated and scrutinizing gaze eyed the sweat covered face, Tharsis giving a small nod of his head towards the paladin. Understanding the gesture, Deimos allowed himself to fall gracefully to the ground.

Panting, the young elf felt a slight fatigue in his muscled arms, though the adrenaline coursing through his body was enough to ignore it. Grinning at the older elf, Deimos gave an eager smirk. "What next?"

Eyeing his son's glistening body, Tharsis tossed a towel at him with a half smile. "I'm delighted to see you're so enthusiastic about training. Perhaps we should send you to Stormwind more often."

His eyes lighting up at the jesting comment, Deimos wiped sweat from his body in thought. While he enjoyed Warren's battalion and drills, they weren't close to being comparable to his father's challenging and demanding ones. The human forgot Deimos' endurance and stamina were heightened due to his elven blood; the drills that would push his fellow human soldiers to their limits only somewhat tired the young elf. Shadowbreaker, the human paladin trainer, knew about his elven advantage; testing Deimos harder. However, nothing paralleled the taxing training his father enforced; with the adrenaline filling his body with a natural high, Deimos reveled in every second of it.

Swallowing hard, the paladin eyed his father's pleased face; a swell of emotions filling his body. The look in Tharsis' eye made the grin on Deimos' face deepen, the accepting and happy gaze from the older elf making his blood pump harder. "What's next for the drills?"

Offering the shirt and cloak to the younger elf, Tharsis smiled at the keen and excited tone in his son's voice. Gingerly accepting the items of clothing, Deimos gave a confused look at his father. "Your endurance training is done. It's nearly noon already."

Glancing up at the sky, the paladin nodded his head. "I'm not tired. We can start with blade training."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Tharsis was shocked at the change in his son; perhaps time away had done the boy good. "We're breaking for lunch. Once that adrenaline high wears off, you'll be thanking me."

Pulling his shirt on over his head, Deimos was inclined to continue the argument to carry on the training. Though his muscles felt a small twinge of tiredness, it was nothing he couldn't push through. However, he also felt an empty feeling in his stomach, the lone piece of bread from breakfast not sufficing his body. Rolling the cloak up in a ball to place under his arm and strapping his sword on his back, the paladin gave a small nod at the waiting commander.

Gesturing to the follow him, Tharsis began to make their way out of the military district. The sounds of swords meeting dummies slowly left the air, the trainers pushing their pupils to their limits, as the two elves entered the new neighborhood; the Court of the Sun, the area their house was located in. The affluent and prosperous district housed the palace as well as other aristocrats and nobles; who by no means carried any power of authority. The Magisters, as well as Brightwing and Lor'themar, resided in the Sunfury Spire; the imposing and intimidating palace. Turning to the left, Tharsis felt his hand go straight down to the hilt of his sword as they left the familiar and serene district; only to begin to enter Murder Row. Pausing in his step, he motioned for Deimos to stop; who sent him a curious and perplexed look. "Put your cloak on."

Sighing at his father's odd tactic, the young elf removed the sword, unrolling the wool fabric to secure around his body. Placing the weapon back in its place, he gave his father a look. "We're not going to be killed walking through."

Ignoring the sarcastic comment, Tharsis began the walking again; the darkened and shady district putting him in unease. Rows of dark fabric hung between the buildings, shielding the sun out of the streets in eeriness. The region was notorious for housing thieves and criminals of Silvermoon; even the Sin'dorei guards showing hesitation to patrol the area. Arcane guardians were more prevalent to be seen enforcing rules in the neighborhood, though the inhabitants had long learned how to go unseen by the guards. Always disliking the gloomy district, Tharsis reluctantly traveled through it, though Deimos found no qualms with the area. Cocky and arrogant, the younger elf didn't doubt his abilities to thwart off the thieves. To Tharsis, however, it wasn't the petty criminals that he detested so much; it was the warlocks. Wary and distrustful of such a group that allowed the company of a demon, the commander found the class disgusting. While he wouldn't have had such a heightened sense of dread at the district normally, an increase in sickening activity put Tharsis in discomfort; especially having Deimos with him. Noticing the lack of the shorter elf beside him, Tharsis whipped around to search for him.

His head cocked to the side, Deimos squinted through the thick purple silks concealing movement in a stucco building. Straining his green eyes to see the moving figures, he could vaguely make out what looked like a set of trainers demonstrating maneuvers with weapons. A group of eager students watched their teacher in awe, their own hands slowly mimicking the exercise. The room was dark and concealed; shadows and whispers dancing around the enclosed space. The inhabitants gave no indication to the curious paladin, continuing on as if unnoticed. Eyeing the daggers in their grasps, Deimos felt a strange sensation of sadness sweep over his body. The group inside the building were rogues. igniting memories of his close friend and ally, Matheus. Sighing, the young elf longed to see the cocky smile on the human's face, or hear about his ridiculous and absurd stories of woman; usually poking fun at the elf's innocence and virginity. While less than a day had passed since seeing the human, it felt like a year to Deimos. He would definitely write the rogue in hopes of convincing the human to spare a trip to visit the Sin'dorei capital.

His mind preoccupied, Deimos barely heard the exchange of air behind him in time to throw his hand out; grasping the incoming arm from an intruder. Twisting the attacker's limb painfully, the young elf immediately followed up the assault with a quick punch to his opponent's face; only to feel the firm ground beneath him fall out from under him as a strong kick landed behind his knees. Crashing down on his back, Deimos winced as the hanging sword on his backside slammed into his spine, assuring a dark bruise that would require healing later. His eyes shut in pain, he felt a firm weight press down on his chest; suppressing any struggles he may have had. Eyes snapping open in surprise and shock, Deimos found his gaze locked with the pointed end of a sword and strong boot planted on his chest. Swallowing hard at the vulnerable situation, the young elf dared his eyes to look up at his opponent; shame and horror dancing across his features. Calm and somber green eyes looked down at him, the facial expression holding its impassive state.

"And now, I'm free to do with you as I please," Tharsis began, staring down at his helpless son with disapproval and, much to Deimos' shocking surprise, slight worry. "You've lived in this city for how long, Deimos? Of all the places to zone out, this is the least area you want to be in. Consider yourself lucky that you're at my mercy and not another's."

A dark shade of embarrassment spreading across his fair cheeks, Deimos gave a small nod. Silently, he berated himself at his obvious inattention while in the shady district; his father was right. He allowed some minute activity to lull his awareness down, giving a watchful attacker sufficient time to take advantage of his guard down. Usually carrying a small dagger concealed on his belt, the paladin had forgone it for the day; assuming the training wouldn't require such a weapon. Sighing while the older elf removed his boot and sword, Deimos accepted the outstretched hand, his abused back protesting in the movement.

Standing on shaky legs, Deimos offered the older elf a sheepish and humiliated look. "Sorry, I was looking at-"

"It doesn't matter what it was. If you let your defenses fall again, I won't be as kind; nor would your captors. You should know better than that."

Diverting his eyes at the degrading lecture, he could only offer a small nod. While he had a hundred sarcastic and cocky comments threatening to spill out, he knew he was in the wrong. While the scowling look on Tharsis' face was mortifying, it was nothing compared to the alternative; which would most likely have been death.

Resuming their walk through the darkened region, Tharsis was sure to keep his voice low while he sent a sideways glance at his son. "We'll take the long route through the Walk of Elders and Royal Exchange back; I don't want you in this area again, understood?"

Whipping his head to the side, Deimos lifted shocked and confused brows at him. While his father's face was painted in annoyance and anger, his eyes gave away to the unease he was feeling. "I know it doesn't have the best reputation but like you said, I've lived here my whole life. I've walked through Murder Row-"

Satisfied that they exited the distressing and eerie district and entering the Walk of Elders, Tharsis abruptly pulled Deimos to the side; his strong hands gripping the confused boys' arms harshly. "You will do as I tell you, understood?" Pausing while an arcane guardian passed by the two, the older elf glanced back into Deimos' shocked and inquisitive face. "Stay away from Murder Row from now on. That's an order."

Had the anxious and apprehension not been apparent on Tharsis' face, Deimos would have replied with an angry retort pertaining to his lack of freedom. However, based on the uncharacteristic worry that swirled in his father's eye, the young elf felt his curiosity heighten to great magnitudes. "Why? What's wrong?"

Sighing at the inquisitive and imploring gaze from the shorter elf, the commander released his vice grip on Deimos' arms, signaling for the two to continue their advance. He had no intentions on sharing the intel with his son; feeling more than pleased to keep Deimos blissfully ignorant to the ominous activity taking part within the city walls.

* * *

Jumping to the side while lifting his sword up, Deimos felt his opponent's blade clash against his own with a resounding bang. The aftershock of the block sent tremors up the young elf's arms; though his straining muscles didn't dare respond to it. Instead, the paladin pivoted on his feet, attempting to bring his sword down in a sideways slice on his opponent's back. The other elf was faster, however, easily twisting his body to deflect the assault. Not letting his father's strong defense hinder his spirits, Deimos was quick to rebound from the failed attack; immediately bringing his blade up to continue the attempts of trying to slice his skin. Immediately spotting an opening, Deimos feigned to the left; unable to stop the grin on his face as his father moved his sword to block it. Following through with the attack, the paladin carved the air with his blade, satisfied when it made contact with the tender skin on the warrior's stomach.

Hissing in pain, Tharsis didn't allow the pulsing wound to hinder his vision or thoughts; his mind set on repaying the attack back to his son. Advancing towards Deimos, the commander kept his footwork strong and confident; the bleeding wound not obstructing his ability to fight. Sending the thick sword down towards the shorter elf's throat, his son was quick to lock blades in a front guard; their eyes meeting while each pushed strongly against the other.

Looking at the concentrated look on Deimos' face, Tharsis gave a smirk. "That was a good slice. Though you look like you're getting wary."

Feeling his flexing muscles strain under his father's brutal strength, Deimos allowed a laughing grin to pass over his face; though he kept his mind completely focused on the attack in his head. "Bring it, old man."

The insult taking him slightly off guard, Tharsis felt raw energy enter his chest, filling his entire body with stinging pains. The strength of the attack propelled the commander off his feet, throwing his body paces backwards, the bleeding wound on his stomach opening further from the attack. The holy energy consuming his thoughts, Tharsis felt his mind numb and go unresponsive to his demands. Lying on the ground, the older elf was vaguely aware of his hilt lying limply in his grasp be kicked away; his hand not responding in time to the disarming. Abruptly, the energy dissipated from his body as swift as it had come, his mind clearing of the fog and haze; but it was too late. The cold sensation of steel against his throat, Tharsis turned his eyes up to meet the triumphant yet fatigued ones of Deimos.

Grinning at the defenseless and exposed position his son had landed him in, the commander gave a nod of defeat; Deimos pulling his sword back to replace it with an outstretched hand. "Impressive. You no longer have to chant Exorcism?"

Assisting his father to his feet, Deimos gave a small shake of his head while he eyed the bleeding wound on Tharsis' stomach. "If I devout more energy to it, I can forgo the chant. It's more powerful but it drains me."

Nodding while the shorter elf's eyes glaze over in pure focus and concentration, Tharsis watched Deimos' mouth begin to recite enchanted terms. As each word passed his lips, the fatigue became all the more evident on his face. Glancing at the large clock tower in Farstrider Square, Tharsis was surprised it read 15:35. He felt the two had just begun the skirmish; the day whipping by. The dull pain in his lower abdomen immediately ceased, the sliced skin mending itself back together. Eyeing Deimos' blinking and tired face, Tharsis heaved a sigh. "Seems you need more teaching from the paladin trainer."

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Deimos felt his energy low. "Shadowbreaker was trying to increase my holy tolerance; we made pretty good progress until I had to leave."

Turning his gaze at his sword that was kicked paces away, Tharsis scowled at the memory of the human trainer. Gingerly picking up the discarded weapon, the commander regarded his fatigued son with a blank look. "Master Pyreanor, a paladin trainer, has returned to Silvermoon; obviously not in Orgrimmar with the Sin'dorei no longer aligned with the Horde. You'll visit him for further training."

Surprised at the order from his father, Deimos nodded hesitantly yet still with obedience. Placing the long sword on his back, the young elf felt his adrenaline slow in his blood stream; the abrupt decline in mana quelling his high. His eyes roaming the ground, he attempted to search for the right words. "Are we going to run anymore drills?"

Eyeing the drained look on his son's sweating face, Tharsis gave a deep sigh. While the day was growing late, the boy could be pushed closer to his limits. Opening his mouth to reply, a figure behind the young elf caused him to close his mouth. Standing without his charger was Champion Vranesh, a slight tilt of his head suggesting the commander come hither. Nodding back in reply at the silent beckoning, Tharsis turned his attention back to his son; who eyed him with curiosity and oddity. "Go get water. Be back in twenty minutes."

The unexpected command taking him off guard, Deimos didn't have enough time to respond; Tharsis pushing past his son without care, his attention and steps focused on the figure behind the shorter elf. Not bothering to ponder on the commander's bold behavior, Deimos picked up his discarded cloak lying on the ground. He would gladly take the twenty minutes to rest and renew his energy; the backing of the holy attack and healing draining him.

* * *

The Bazaar reminded him of a significantly calmer and more placid Trade District from Stormwind. The lined trees and well groomed shrubbery contrasted with the human's neighborhood; Stormwind's trading area having far too much bustle and activity to sustain elaborate plant life. The Bazaar, its area significantly larger and more spaced out, offered similar merchants scattered about; their carts and trailers packed with items and merchandise in hopes of selling. A rounded stucco building stood in the center, the calm and cool voices of auctioneers differing from the human's fast and yelling tones.

His cloak tucked under an arm and a bottle of spring water in hand, Deimos pushed back the purple silk that hung in the doorway of the Wayfarer's Rest Tavern. Squinting as the sun reached his eyes, the young elf knew he had ten minutes of his break left; he didn't want to think of the consequences if he was late. Gulping down the water, the paladin felt his strength and vigor rekindling; his body preparing itself for further training. While his muscles were beginning to ache from the day's long training, he knew better to assume the practice was complete. Tharsis, on a good day, would conclude the drills at dinner time; allowing the young elf decent time to recuperate with a shower and a warm meal. On bad days, the commander would demand perfection and excellence from Deimos, forcing him through rigorous and brutal exercises until well after midnight only to expect the boy to awake with renewed energy at 0600 the next day. Spending the greater part of his life learning to interpret his father's expressions and moods accordingly, he usually knew immediately what kind of day it would be. Grinning, Deimos knew it was a good day; his father's proud and pleased look on his face with his performance at the drills burned in his mind.

"The prodigal son has returned."

Stopping in his tracks, Deimos whipped his head to the side at the sound of snickering and laughing; his gaze falling on a group of young elves sitting under a full tree. The five Sin'dorei sat on a spread blanket, open books and parchment scattered around them. The group was familiar to the paladin; though not in the sense it should have been. In all rights and customs, Deimos should have been residing with the group. In Sin'dorei culture, elflings were raised in a small communal setting; elflings of similar age creating the clan. Beginning their education immediately, the clan would progress together through their schooling collectively, creating a sense of unity and acceptance among each other. Tharsis, however, had forgone the custom; schooling his son at home. When elflings his age were beginning to write their names and alphabet, Deimos was learning the proper grip on a hilt. Instead of sitting in a classroom learning about the history of the three wars, he traveled with his father's company; seeing battles first hand. When his age group was learning about advanced mathematical properties, the paladin was planning strategic tactics for the raid on Stormwind. Though he didn't receive a formal education, Tharsis made sure Deimos was pushed as much academically as he was physically; Brightwing also taking great care at securing the boy's academia. His military-oriented raising was considered rare; elves staying in school until their eighties. After which, the elf would have to decide what they wished to do with their lives; continue their education at a higher academy, take on an apprenticeship, or join the military. Officially joining the military at nine years old, Deimos was considered extraordinary.

Sighing at the laughing and mocking voice, Deimos eyed Elik Rommath with disdain. The son of Grand Magister Rommath, the boy had a permanent sneer etched on his face. Living in the same district and their father's often working together; the two elves had grown up seeing each other, much to both of their dismay. Elik took no greater joy in mocking and annoying the paladin; the rest of his age group following suit. As much as Deimos was tempted to punch the conceited and snobbish elf, he knew better. His father's only son, Elik was studying the art of arcane magic; expecting to walk in his father's footsteps and take on the title of Grand Magister one day. Rommath adored and boasted about his son often; an act that annoyed Deimos and Tharsis to no end. Just as the young elves had a dire relationship, the fathers weren't much different.

Readjusting the long sword on his back as Elik stood to his feet, a smug smirk on his face, Deimos shifted from one foot to the other. The other four elves in his age group, half females, continued to snicker at the paladin's expense. Eyeing the approaching elf, the young Ares'mar crossed his arms over his broad chest. The same height as Deimos, Elik had shined ebony hair, the long cascading locks combed neatly behind pointed ears; contrasting sharply with Deimos' short spiky blonde hair. Reaching the paladin, the air surrounding the two was also vastly different; Elik enjoying the haughty and offensive aura he emitted while Deimos preferred the calm yet aggressive atmosphere. Their builds were markedly unlike; the magi's scrawny and gaunt body lacked the physical training the paladin grew up with. His one bicep easily twice the size of Elik's, Deimos' muscular and built body gave him little support against the magi. If the two did get into a serious quarrel, Elik only need to mention his father's name to win the battle; Deimos knowing the Grand Magister would heed his son's sick requests.

Visibly eyeing the paladin up and down, Elik tossed his head back into a laugh; the urge to smash his head into the ground overly tempting to Deimos. "And I was half expecting to see you mind-controlled to get back here. Rumor is that you chose those disgusting humans over us."

His lips pursing in annoyance at the elf in front of him, Deimos willed himself to calm; he didn't want to give him satisfaction of seeing him angry. "Still clinging to every word daddy says? You'd think with that expensive education you'd learn to have thoughts of your own."

The comment only fueling his mocking worse, Elik snickered at the paladin. "Well, at least I can say that I have one. How're your academics going? Or has your foolish and dense father completely stopped educating you?"

Moving an aggressive and threatening step forward, the paladin allowed his arms to uncross from his chest; balling into angry fists at his sides. His structure was nearly twice the size of the magi's, though his hostile stance didn't alarm the other elf the least bit. "Don't talk about my father."

Sneering at the menacing stance the paladin took, Elik mirrored the movement. "I see you're still Tharsis' dutiful little soldier."

His face inches from the other elf's, Deimos smirked darkly at him, an amused glint in his eye. "Still your father's little bed mate, or has he bore of you yet?"

The comment infuriating Elik, he snarled at the paladin. "Just wait till I tell my father, Ares'mar. You'll be drooling all over yourself by the end of the day."

Giving a slight shake of his head at the threat, Deimos took a retreating step backwards while swallowing hard, trying to down his pride as well. The threat wasn't empty; Elik's father had the power to order for the intrusive procedure, probable cause not required. Grinning tightly and mockingly at the four elves sitting under the tree, Deimos snickered. "Enjoy your books and homework. I've got to get back to doing, you know, meaningful training. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Watching the elves for supple time to see resentment and annoyance spread across their features, Deimos gave one last smirk at Elik, whose face was also contorted into rage, before turning abruptly from the group. Gripping the innocent bottle of water in his hand harder, the paladin kept his head high and proud while he felt infuriated stares boring into his back; though it didn't bother him one bit. Blood pumping filling his ears, the young elf felt a renewed energy and vigor coursing through his veins; the altercation with his age group fueling his desire to persist the training with his father.

* * *

"You performed decent today; considering your lapse in training."

Eyes lighting up in happiness at the rare compliment, Deimos couldn't bring himself to react any more than a nod. Waiting patiently while Tharsis unlocked the front door to their home, the young elf felt a relieved sigh leave his lips. Twilight threatening to engulf the Sin'dorei city, the sun was preparing to set; its lingering life struggling to stay afloat. After meeting back up with his father to continue the training, the young elf resumed the drills with restored force; his father easily picking up on his change in mannerism. Though he swung his sword with an increase in strength and power, Deimos' attacks were sloppy and careless, trying any means to release the pent up anger swelling inside him. Tharsis easily blocked and berated his son for such hasty assaults. Calling an end to the day, the older elf felt content with the progress made.

Entering the dwelling shortly behind his father, Deimos felt his body screaming at him, his muscles aching from the harsh drills from the day. While he reveled in the high from the adrenaline during the exercises, the repercussions for such brutal training left his limbs in pain. Energy drained and mind half aware of his surroundings, the young elf barely noticed the appetizing aroma that filled the air; his thoughts dominated with keeping his limbs moving. Swallowing hard while he adjusted the long sword resting on his back, its weight feeling overbearing for his body, Deimos hung his head as he advanced towards the elevating ramp; Tharsis watching him under scrutinizing eyes.

"I'm going to take a quick shower before dinner, if that's ok."

Eyeing the lethargic and weary steps the boy took, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. Indeed, Deimos' tolerance for such vigorous training was significantly less than before he left Silvermoon; usually able to withstand such a day with better stamina. However, the older elf mused, his son had returned to him after the twenty minute break with a strange glint in his eye; his eagerness to exercise with his blade somewhat disconcerting to the commander. While he encouraged his son to thrive on built up frustration, to allow it to dominate the body was a dire mistake; one which Deimos should have been aware of. Giving the exhausted elf in front of him another look over, Tharsis nodded his head in waiting approval; watching Deimos ascend the ramp and disappear.

Removing his own weapon from its resting place on his hip, the older elf moved into the library; his thoughts already pondering the stacks of accounts and intel waiting to be read on his desk. While the usual scouting and surveillance reports were long overdue to be critiqued, the commander couldn't bring himself to put full thought into the monotonous words; more pressing and important intelligence waiting on the desk drawing his attention. Sighing as he took a seat behind the desk, eyeing the growing mound of parchment, Tharsis knew it would be a long and trying night; the extensive reports requiring lengthy amount of time each. Distractedly noting the sound of movement above him, the commander retrieved a small stack of paper; presuming he had to start somewhere.

Pulling the short sleeved night shirt over his head, his damp hair wetting the collar of it, Deimos gave a tired sigh which progressed into a yawn. His thoughts were muddled and cluttered by exhaustion; the day's events taking its toll on him. Moving into his room from the adjoining bathroom, his muscles felt slightly at ease from the soothing warm water that rushed over them. Though his limbs were still tinged with a foreboding soreness; giving a taste of what the next day was to hold. Vaguely massaging his shoulder blade with his fingertips, Deimos knew it was in vain; tender and aching muscles were sure to follow the rising sun in the morning.

Sitting down on his neatly made bed, the thick comforter folded at the bottom in preparation for sleep, the young elf allowed his back to fall against the luxurious mattress; its plush and pillowed top warmly accepting his worn and tired body. Sighing as he stared up at the ceiling above him, Deimos couldn't stop the angered feelings at seeing the group of elves that, by all rights, should have been his friends. The lack of companionship from the arrogant and conceited elves didn't bother him; he had grown to accept his loneliness and solitude in the city. Though seeing the group only increased his desire to return to Stormwind; his own friends residing in the human city. Interacting with the young elves only reaffirmed his happiness that he was raised in the respect that he was; in a military and soldier way. Not sure how he would have turned out without the daily trainings or harsh endurance drills, the elf gave a small shake of his head at the thought. Would he be friends with Elik; studying the art of arcane magic as well? Would school and academic be as challenging and trying for him as the military exercises were? Where would he end up; an apprenticeship for a profession or attending Dalaran academy? Such questions would never be answered; they simply weren't his life.

Turning a tired face to glance at the long and impressive sword hanging on the wall in its proper place, Deimos gave a forced smile. As much as he hated and detested long days with his demanding and vicious father, he knew the significance of such ruthless training; however reluctant he was to accept it. He knew Tharsis' disciplining and punishing means were strict and severe, but they were needed; or so he told himself. The whole day, however, had been a good one; his father's proud and pleased smile burned into Deimos' mind. Allowing his eyes to close in thought, the young elf figured if he could only continue to push himself and impress Tharsis, the training would pass with ease. Unfortunately, it would only be a matter of time before the commander would augment the paladin's training to reflect his improvements. Licking his lips, Deimos would continue to strive for his father's acceptance in his trainings, with a small hope of being able to return to Stormwind.

Sighing in frustration as he reached the second level of the house, Tharsis made his way down the hall with determination. Not hearing the rush of water or movement coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall, the commander pursed his lips in anger at his son's obvious lack of respect. The sun had just set; the embers of night beginning to burn with resilience. Reading through the reports with force, Tharsis found it tremendously difficult to concentrate on the words decorating the parchment with the seducing smells of the waiting dinner. Patiently lingering in the library for Deimos, the older elf could no longer hold his serenity.

The bright glow from the arcane lights in the bedroom lingered into the hallway as Tharsis pulled the silks back to enter his son's room. He was never keen on knocking before entering; a trait he picked up from living in the barracks. Privacy was a great privilege; one which was reserved for the most respected of soldiers. His own childhood coming to mind, Tharsis was never granted such a luxury; his parents having no qualms with abruptly entering his bedroom. As much as he was sure Deimos longed for isolation at his age, Tharsis was adamant on delivering it.

His eyes immediately falling on the desk resting on the other side of the room, where he assumed he'd find the boy mulling over the report he assigned to him that morning, the commander was dismayed to find the chair empty. Turning to the left, Tharsis felt his annoyance increase at Deimos' position. Adorned in his night clothes, the young elf was passed out on the bed; his consistent and heavy breathing giving evidence to the deep sleep that enveloped him. His eyes moving from the folded blanket that rested at the foot of the bed to Deimos' matted down hair, the usual spiky style impeded from laying on it wet, it was evident the boy hadn't been prepared to sleep. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the commander felt his decisions torn; to rouse the sleeping paladin or not. Having not eaten since lunch, the boy would indeed be needing nourishment; especially with the training that would commence the next day. However, he also required sleep to renew the energy that he obviously drained. Shaking his head is dismay and frustration, Tharsis was, despite Deimos' notable performance during the day, disappointed at the lack of endurance the boy possessed. While completing the drills with excitement and vigor with the aid and support from his adrenaline high, his son was quick to tire come the end of the day; his face unable to shield the fatigue and exhaustion. His scowl deepening, Tharsis vowed to fix the paladin's endurance dilemma swiftly; he would simply have to implement more challenging drills.

Sighing with a mixture of defeat and annoyance, Tharsis moved hesitantly to the bottom of the rounded bed, pulling the Frostweave coverlet free from its folded position. Throwing it over his son's prone form without care, the commander damned himself to eating dinner alone; leaving Deimos to sleep. Eyeing the shifting boy, Tharsis wasn't completely unfamiliar with the solitude. Returning from the campaign in Northrend nearly two months ago, the older elf had arrived to an empty house; Deimos already declared the 'ambassador' between the Sin'dorei and humans. Giving a small shake of his head at the irritating memory of being informed of his son's whereabouts, Tharsis gave a flick of his wrist in the empty air; the arcane lights diminishing their glow. Taking one last fast glimpse at his son's sleeping face, Tharsis gave a sinister smirk. If Deimos felt tired after the first day, the boy would likely be dead by the beginning of the following week.


	6. Chapter 6

Gulping the air around him, Deimos tried futilely to catch his breath; his heaving chest sending a stinging pain down his body with each pant. The cold and frigid air in the forested region of Quel'thalas was cruel and unforgiving to the Sin'dorei, blowing harsh winds against his body. The frosted grass would crinkle when stepped on, the frozen blades cracking from the weight straining them. The dying fall and approaching winter only showcased the dire and troublesome cold season that loomed over the land, the howling wind not showing any mercy for those in its path.

Palms resting on his knees, Deimos hung his head in an attempt to quell his hungered lungs for needed air, not taking notice to the freezing climate around him. A week had passed since returning to the Sin'dorei capital and commencing his rigorous training with his father. While the daily practices initially began well and sound, Tharsis immediately elevated his expectations and prospects for the paladin; the drills and exercises taking on more vicious and brutal attributes. Deimos continued to struggle for his father's acceptance and pleasing eye with each passing day; regrettably seeing the opposite. His sword lay forgotten on the frozen ground to the side of him as he struggled for air, the sound of blood pumping filling his ears drowned out the noises of the forest and steady stream of water resting beside him. Feeling a presence move next to him, Deimos grimaced his face in expectation for the harsh words that were sure to follow.

Standing beside the boy, Tharsis glared down at his sweating brow and wincing face as he leaned his body forward. Moving their usual training from Farstrider Square to the forested area beyond the city walls, the commander began the day of training with dedicating the complete morning to running; only calling the exercise to a standstill when the sun rested half way across the sky and allowed the fatigued paladin the privilege of lunch. While running wasn't a difficult endurance drill for the boy usually, Tharsis ordered him to accomplish the exercise while adorned in his plate armor. The first half of the run was done so with ease; Deimos having no qualms with completing the task. However, the eighty pound weight of plate armor impeding his limbs and their movements soon took its toll, the paladin being forced to stop every so often to catch a breath. The commander was quick to chastise him, straining his son to continue uninterrupted. After the brief interlude that followed the exercise, allowing Deimos to regain some of his strength, Tharsis moved onto a different drill. Wearing his own armor and outfitted in two swords, the commander ordered Deimos to strip himself of his plate for blade training. The skirmish between the two was hardly considered fair, Deimos having to defend himself against the twin blades as well as struggling to land a blow to the heavy plate armor defending his opponent. Indeed, Tharsis was quite aware of the advantage in his favor; the drill not meant to be even between the two. His son had to condition himself for better endurance and stamina, the harsh and brutal combat aiding in the process.

Gripping the hilts of the swords in his two hands, Tharsis glared down at the exhausted boy. "Get your sword. We're hardly finished here."

His body and muscles protested to the firm and strict voice resonating from above him, Deimos flinching at the tone while giving a small shake of his head. His vision was becoming as muddled and unclear as his thoughts; the effects of utter exhaustion and thirst beginning to take effect on his worn body. "I-I can't. I'm… sorry. P-please-"

Snarling at the quiet and begging voice, the commander released one of the hilts in his grasp with anger; not bothering to watch as it landed on the grass with a silent thud. Anger and rage coursing through his body, the older elf wretched the panting and aching boy harshly by the upper arm, pulling him towards the discarded long sword on the ground. The lack of resistance from Deimos was entertaining and pleasing to the older elf; unsure if it was due to lack of energy or genuine submission. Glancing down at the weak young elf, Tharsis was angered even more. Merely half the afternoon had passed and the paladin was prepared to end the drills. Growling in rage, Tharsis threw Deimos' aching body to the frozen grass. Smirking at the pained moan the boy emitted when landing painfully on his hands and knees, the commander retrieved his own discarded weapon.

"Now get up. You're weak display of swordsmanship is pathetic; the same as your defense. We'll be out here all night if we have too."

Slowly outreaching his hand, which was coated in a mixture of sweat and blood from a previous wound to his arm, Deimos weakly grasped the majestic and large sword, allowing a small groan escape his lips. The lack of water caused his aching head to spin, his muscles no longer complying with his demands to grip the hilt of the weapon tightly. Clenching his eyes shut in pain and defeat, the paladin slowly rose to his feet to face his incensed and impatient father; he was fighting a losing battle. Tired and hurt eyes met Tharsis', the young elf's heart plummeting in his chest. The commander stood upright and proud, his neatly pulled back hair not showing any evidence of the trying skirmishes that took place. Swallowing hard at the deathly calm face, Deimos willed his muscles to rouse from their tired dissents; the long weapon feeling far too heavy for his arms.

Sneering at the tired youth, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head in disgust. "Perhaps you do belong in Stormwind; your endurance is on par with the pitiable humans. You're a disappointment, Deimos." Pausing to watch dismay and sorrow wash over his son's face, the commander gave a dark smirk. "I don't have space in my company for weak elflings so you best improve."

Sighing at the insults, Deimos couldn't muster the strength or courage to voice his reply; though he was sure Tharsis wouldn't be pleased with what he had in mind. Clenching his teeth together as he tried to in vain to gather the dwindling energy in his body, the paladin squeezed his grip around the hilt of the long sword. Though his vision was wavering and cloudy, he refused to give in to his father's sick taunts. Swallowing in a feeble attempt to return moisture to his parched and aching throat, Deimos vowed to give one last stand in the skirmish; already fully aware of the dire and ominous outcome that was sure to follow.

Charging the scowling commander with a mixture of lingering energy and pent up frustration, the young elf brought his weapon across his chest as he lunged at his opponent. Tharsis, however, was well-prepared for the ill-planned and weakly executed assault; easily lifting one sword up in time to deflect the diagonal slice. Following through with thrusting the second blade a mere second after the paladin's failed attack, the older elf was surprised to find his weapon parried by a swift upward swing. Though fatigue and dehydration were hindering the boy's ability to land satisfactory assaults, his stubbornness and remaining strength aided him in his ability to survive. Engaging the young elf in a constant onslaught of swinging blades, Tharsis forced him to retreat from the strong attacks. Ducking and fading when he was unable to bring his sword up in time to deflect an attack, Deimos felt the battle coming to a sad end. His tired limbs refused to move at the speed he commanded them to; their delayed responses making him no competition for his father's fierce blades. Not seeing the false edge Tharsis performed with one of the swords, Deimos felt the weapon cleanly cut across his unarmored chest; the sharp blade easily tearing through his skin and grazing his ribs with malice. Falling to the side with a pained scream, the young elf landed with a thud on his knees; the hilt of his sword surprisingly remaining in his closed fist. His face contorted in pain and eyes clenched tightly shut, Deimos heaved his chest furiously, trying to calm his crying body from the wound.

Pursing his lips in anger at the effortlessness attack needed to down his son, Tharsis silently and slowly approached the kneeing boy with rage. Watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the older elf felt no amount of pity or sympathy for the dark and angry slice across the paladin's chest; it only aided in his postulation that the boy was weak and in dire need of more intense training. Glaring down over his son's kneeling form, Tharsis heard the recognizable words of a holy spell leaving his lips, each quiet word taking more energy from the boy. After watching the wound mend itself back together, Tharsis turned his angered glare away from him as he moved back to his position paces away, swords ready in his hands.

Turning back to regard the still kneeling young elf with annoyed and frustrated eyes, the commander growled at him. "Now get back up and actually try to fight. I've fought against a pair of useless humans that were better at swinging a sword. Maybe you do belong with that race; you sure are as much of a disappointment to me as they are."

He wasn't sure what took place in his body and mind but the comment broke a dam in Deimos' thoughts. Seeing red from anger and rage, the paladin immediately stood to shaky feet, the abrupt and fast movement making his vision spin. He didn't pay it any heed however, his infuriated attention solely focused on the older elf standing several feet way with a scowl on his face. Snarling in anger, Deimos whipped the long sword to the side, not bothering to watch it fly through the air and land with a soft thump. Balling his hands into fists on the sides of him, he took an aggressive and enraged step towards his father; whose face dropped the scowl to be replaced with a blank and expressionless stare.

"You know what? I'm done!" Deimos yelled at the scrutinizing elf in front of him, who only regarded him with an elevated brow. The forest was deathly silent, his loud and angered voice echoing through the trees; the only sound accompanying him was the rushing waters beside them. "I've worked my ass off for you my entire life! And for what? I'm tired and dehydrated; but that's ok because I'm such a _disappointment_, right? I would die trying to reach your unholy standards, just to try to make you satisfied. But even that wouldn't be good enough for you, would it? If I'm so pathetic and weak, why don't you just send me back to Stormwind?" Pausing to observe Tharsis' still blank and passive face, the lack of response and emotion from his father only seemed to fuel his outburst more. "You brought me back here just so you could have someone to exercise your sick and twisted dominance on, and guess what? I'm tired of it! So screw you!"

His angered and frustrated mind calming slightly from the explosion and venting, Deimos turned away from the older elf, prepared to retreat back to the city; only realizing his dire and dreadful mistake too late. While he felt his outburst was long overdue from years of brutalizing conditioning and debasing punishments, Deimos knew his disobedience and defiance wouldn't go unnoticed. Had his strength and energy been revived and full of vigor, he might have heard the exchange of air from the incoming attack from behind him. With amazing speed and strength, one hand gripped his shoulder while the other squeezed the nape of neck harshly. His fatigued muscles were useless to fight off the attack, Deimos instinctively bringing his hands up in an attempt to thwart off the vice grips; but it was in vain. The hands were clenched in determination and anger, the ruthless grasps sure to leave dark bruises on the paladin's fair skin. Feeling himself pulled to the side with a strong thrust, Deimos thrashed uselessly against the warm body behind him; slightly surprised at the lack of swift punishment from the older elf. Glancing to the side where his body was being propelled towards, Deimos fought with renewed vigor; his eyes landing on the destination he assumed his father had in mind.

Cold fear coursed through the young elf's blood as he felt his body momentarily lifted in the air, the strong hands on his neck and shoulder easily elevating his weight. Giving a surprised and startled cry, Deimos watched the calm stream of water come closer to his body; the chunks of ice floating serenely on the surface mocking the paladin. Hopeless to stop the impending action, the young elf squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the pain and discomfort that was sure to accompany the water.

Slamming into the freezing stream, its riverbed to deep for Deimos to find his footing, he felt his breath be ripped from his body from the stinging coldness. Grateful that he was only wearing his leather pants and Netherweave shirt, the paladin gave a small thanks to the Light for having him remove his plate armor; the weight ensuring his drowning. His head barely above the surface of the water as he gasped for breath, Deimos cracked open his eyes; meeting the angered and furious green ones of his father. Abruptly, the strong hands were replaced on his shaking and freezing body, each giving a harsh and brutal thrust downwards. Shocked and terrified as his body was forced under the frigid water, Deimos was barely able to get in one last gulp of air before his head was submerged. Hands breaking the surface of the stream in an effort to force the grips to release his body, the bitter water caused his already aching lungs to thirst for more air; the unforgiving hands on his neck and shoulder refusing to give in to his thrashings. His mind beginning to panic from the loss of precious air, the young elf began to violently thrash and shake his body in an effort to escape the grasps holding him under. It was in vain; the vice grips refused to budge. Feeling his mind numbing and releasing itself into a dark void, Deimos was dreadfully aware of the drowning and dying sensation passing through his body; the fight slowly leaving his drained limbs. Though his body still stung from the freezing water, he didn't notice his arms had stopped their beating above the stream.

Suddenly, the hands hoisted his weight up, his face breaking the surface of the water and meeting the bitter air. Gulping for breath greedily, Deimos opened his pained eyes to meet his father's angered face; the cruel and malicious gleam in his glare made the young elf's heart sink. Blinking furiously from the water dripping into his eyes, the young elf took one more deep breath as he felt the hands immerse him back under the stream. Though he was rewarded several breaths of fresh air, his lungs still ached with needed breath, his mind struggling to stay conscious. Unsure how long the hands kept his body submerged, Deimos didn't have much strength in his exhausted body to fight against it; it would be futile anyways. Gladly welcoming the feeling of unconsciousness threatening to overcome him, the young elf could only be slightly relieved. The pained and agonizing feeling of drowning was, in some aspects, worse than the weapon wounds he received throughout his life. His mind was reeling; just waiting for the inevitable death that would come.

The grips on his neck and shoulder lifting him from the stream, Deimos was thrown unceremoniously to the forested ground. Shivering and trembling from the cold wind that whipped against his drenched body, the young elf couldn't gather his strength to move from his strewn position on his side; his lungs screaming for more air than his heaving could allow. Eyes clenched shut in pain and slight relief, Deimos couldn't bring himself to take notice to the approaching figure.

Eyeing the panting elf on the ground, Tharsis felt his fury increase tenfold. The insolent boy had dared to insult him; turning his back on his commander and father. Such insubordination and rebellion would not be tolerated, his anger and rage dominating his punishment. Snarling at Deimos' pained face, the commander sent a swift and hard kick to his abdomen. A strangled cry emitting itself from the young elf, the assault propelled the paladin on his back; his arms wrapping protectively around his aching stomach. Dropping to his knees in front of his son, Tharsis wrapped a harsh and strong hand around his neck, giving a sardonic smirk when the paladin opened fearful eyes to look him. The terror and dread resonating off his features, the older elf reveled in the power he had over Deimos as he tightened his grasp on the delicate throat.

Eyeing the blue tint to the boy's lips, either from the cold or lack of air, Tharsis scowled deeper at him. "I brought you into this world and I can just as easily take you out."

Unable to suppress the shivers that racked his cold body, Deimos tried to muster as much courage and strength into his voice. "Then do it."

The vice grip on his throat never faltering, the young elf felt his head whip to the side as he was backhanded across his face; the metallic taste of blood from his split lip evident in his mouth. Deimos knew the comment was too much, his father was already infuriated from his outburst. Daring a glance at the older elf kneeling next to him, he was taken back by the sheer resentment and wrath dancing across his father's face. He had pushed him too far.

Watching Deimos send his eyes to the side in submission and surrender, the older elf felt satisfaction fill his being. Demanding respect and compliance from his son, Tharsis expected nothing less from the boy. The venting of pent up frustration at his domineering ways had been frustrating to the commander; though he couldn't say he wasn't surprised. The paladin's young and trying age would predispose the elf to such quarrels; Tharsis' own rebellious and cocky attitude at the age coming to mind. However, the commander refused to deal with such an impudent boy; he would drill the attitude out.

Looking his son over, Tharsis took in his sopping hair and drenched clothes; no doubt beginning to freeze in the cold wind. The young elf shook from the frigid air, his eyes dutifully focused to the side while the older elf scrutinized him. Anger still swelled in his chest from the cheekiness displayed from Deimos, but he felt more than content with the brazen stance subdued from the boy. However, his eyes roaming the young elf, he felt slightly culpable for the severity of the punishment. While it was effective in repressing disrespectful behavior, it had dire consequences. Taking in the still blue tint to Deimos' lips, the older elf stood up with a sigh, the young elf cautiously lifting his eyes with curiosity.

Moving to the bundle of supplies he brought with them, Tharsis couldn't hide the lingering malice in his voice at the boy; the command coming out rough and strict. "Take your shirt off and come here."

Retrieving what he sought from the mound of belongings, the older elf turned around to glance at the still prone paladin. Hesitation and fear were etched on his face, unsure how to respond to the order. Still cautious and shocked by the punishment enforced by the commander, Deimos was reluctant to approach him; least of all disrobe. Lifting a mocking brow at the tentative elf, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest impatiently. "Today, Deimos."

Timidly standing to his feet, his frozen limbs protesting from the movement, Deimos blinked several times at Tharsis. His inquiring gaze falling on the two folded cloaks in the older elf's hand, understanding dawned him. Nodding, the paladin slowly pulled the sopping shirt over his head; wincing as the freezing air touched his bare chest. Wrapping his arms around himself in a sad effort to retain some warmth, he gingerly approached the waiting and deadly calm commander.

Watching his son keep his head down in shame and submission, Tharsis thrust the two thick cloaks at him. "Put these on. I don't need you getting sick."

Not daring to lift his head up at the stern voice, Deimos gingerly wrapped the thick material around his shaking body; thankful for the small reprise from the bitter cold. Feeling his father's eyes scrutinizing and inspecting him, the young elf was sure to keep his face blank and void of emotion. He knew his outburst and explosion of years of built up frustration had caused the silent brooding from the older elf; the anger still resonating off the taller presence beside him. Standing deathly still, the paladin swallowed hard, not sure if he was expected to say anything or move.

Eyeing Deimos' dripping blonde hair and still quivering lips, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. He couldn't tell if the emotions swirling inside him were anger from the paladin's words or annoyance at the situation. The compliant and obedient tilt of his son's head forward somewhat eased the commander's turmoil feelings, though not completely. "Gather your stuff. We're done."

As the shorter elf lifted his head up at the words, Tharsis felt his blood run cold; his heart nearly stopping in his chest. The once blank and void green eyes met Tharsis', the young elf's gaze full of guilt and remorse, swirled with a tinge of hurt and still ebbing anger. The combination of emotions wasn't unfamiliar to the commander; he had been on the receiving end of the look many times, just not from Deimos. The strange mixture of feelings was one that _her_ gaze would be filled with after an argument with Tharsis; usually resulting in the commander asking for her forgiveness by the end of the night. However much he longed to force and push the memories of his departed wife from his mind, his son would always somehow bring them back, much to his dismay and horror.

The shocked and stunned look that overtook his features didn't go unnoticed from Deimos; his brows meeting together in confusion and uncertainty. "_Ann'da, _I'm fine to continue sparring. We don't-" (**Dad**)

"Just go!" Concealing his shaken emotions with rage, Tharsis' furious voice echoed through the silent forest. No longer able to look into his son's face, the commander tore his gaze to the side.

Eyes wide in surprise as he physically recoiled from the taller elf, Deimos gave a small and brisk nod of his head, though Tharsis didn't take any notice. The commander's troubled face was focused on the frosted grass as Deimos hastily gathered his sword and possessions; his clumsy movements dominated by his fear at the strange and unpredictable shouting from his father. Pausing to see if Tharsis was going to follow him back to the city, Deimos was surprised to see the older elf hadn't moved from his position; his gaze still concentrated on the ground. His face was etched in distress and forced anger, though his eyes remained blank and unfocused. Assuming his father's strange behavior was a result of his own angry words, gave a small shake of his head; he doubt this would be the end of it.

* * *

"_How about Renan?" _

"_That sounds terrible. I'm not naming my son that." _

_Laughing at the feigned disgust in her husband's voice, Tavia playfully hit his arm; her small hand barely moving his strong limb. Grinning widely, she lifted amused brows at him. "Well, what _do_ you want to name your son?" _

_Lying on a blanket in the enchanted room located in the center of their home, Tharsis had an arm wrapped securely around his wife's small and fragile frame; his protective embrace soothing her. Glancing at a small orchid Tavia toyed with in her hands, running her fingers over the velvet petals, Tharsis gave a small sigh as he laughed teasingly. "Anything but Renan. That name is horrid; I can't believe you even suggested it." Pausing to grin at the mocking glare he received, the elf felt his happy emotions be replaced with tenseness. "And the druid is sure it's a boy?" _

_Smiling knowingly at the anxious look on Tharsis' face, Tavia leaned in to give a quick kiss on his lips. "Yes, he's positive. And I don't know why you're so nervous. It's only an elfling; and you'll be a great father." _

_The arm wrapped around her waist tightened affectionately, his other hand lovingly pushing a loose strand of blonde hair behind her pointed ear. Eyeing his wife's swollen belly, Tharsis gave a small sigh. While he was overjoyed at the prospect of having an elfling with his spouse, he couldn't hide the scared and frightened feelings that accompanied the idea. Having no experience with infants, Tharsis couldn't help but be nervous. _Give me battles, swords, and war; those I understand._ "What if he hates me?" _

_Watching her laugh at the comment, Tharsis couldn't help but smile; her laugh was music to his ears. "He won't hate you, Tharsis. Please believe me, my love, you will be a fine father." _

_Grinning at the comforting words, the commander leaned back on his elbows with a smirk. "I guess I better visit the blacksmith; see what kind of swords they make for elflings." _

_The delicately enchanted orchid still resting in her palm, Tavia a small smack to her husband's broad chest lightheartedly. "Oh, don't you start. Renan is allowed to be whatever he chooses. Maybe he'll even grow up to an enchanter." _

_Rolling his eyes teasingly, the commander gave a smirk. "Ok, first of all, his name is _not_ Renan. So stop calling him that. And no son of mine is going to be an enchanter. He's going to be a warrior, like me." _

_A brow quirked up, his wife gave him a look. "How about we agree to let him choose whatever he wants to be? He's not even born yet, for Light's sake, and you want to enroll him in the military." _

_Smiling at his wife's attempt to hold a stern gaze at him, the commander chuckled. "Fine, but I'm still training him the proper use of a sword. _Then_, he can decide what he wants to be." _

_Unable to hold the mocking firm stare, Tavia gave a small laugh, her eyes falling down to the smooth flower resting in her hands. "You've insulted all the names I've suggested for him, yet you haven't come up with any ideas." _

_Sighing at the unspoken request of him, Tharsis sat up. "How can I name an elfling I haven't seen? Maybe we should just name him after one of our fathers." _

_A deep smile on her face, Tavia gently picked up her husband's strong and firm hand in her own. Giving a small kiss to his fingers, she softly placed his hand on her pregnant stomach. Immediately panicking that the weight of his hand would bring harm to the elfling, Tharsis began to pull his limb away; only to have her thin fingers firmly hold it in place. "It's fine, my love. You'll do no harm." _

_His concerned eyes moving from her fair face to his hand resting on the large bulge, the commander gave a small sigh; his body relaxing. Unsure what he was looking or waiting for, he continued to gaze at the unseen infant resting under his hand. He couldn't fathom how something so delicate and precious found itself into his life, a similar feeling he had on his wedding day. He thanked the Light everyday for blessing him with a beautiful and loving wife, carrying his unborn son. She was his world and all; he would give anything for her. _

_Bringing his eyes up from her expectant abdomen, Tharsis gave a loving smile at his waiting wife. "Deimos. That's what we'll name him." _

_Returning the smile, Tavia gazed down at her stomach with adoration. "Deimos. Deimos Ares'mar. I like it." _

Jerking awake, Tharsis sat up in his bed with a start. His usually tied back shoulder length hair was messily around his face; his sweat covered brow causing some of the strands to cling to his clammy skin. Panting, the older elf gave a small wave of his hand in the open air, the majestic chandelier on the cathedral ceiling illuminating the area with an arcane glow. The large and impressive master bedroom was floored in black marble speckled with pieces of granite, glimmering when the light hit it. Intricate and lushly carved woods of red and gold made up the walls, extending to the vaulted ceiling. Two large closets were nestled next to an adjoining bathroom, while two large windows decorated a long wall with swaying silk curtains.

Heaving a deep sigh, Tharsis pushed the Frostweave comforter to the side of the grand circular bed. Though he was aware of the importance of a good night's sleep, he knew the dream wouldn't allow him to fall back into a peaceful slumber. Her smiling face kept coming to mind, making his emotions torn between anger and sadness. Pushing himself to his feet, the commander pulled the discarded shirt on the marbled floor over his head. Not particularly caring the he was still dressed in his night pants, Tharsis looked at the clock that rested on the nightstand beside the bed. Seeing it was shortly after midnight, he gave a small sigh as he moved to exit the room, giving a small wave of his hand to extinguish the arcane lights.

The rest of the house was enveloped in blackened darkness; not a single sound echoing through the large dwelling. Eyeing the room at the end of the hall with strange interest, Tharsis felt his feet moving towards the area. While he occasionally dreamt of his wife, such detailed and thorough ones were rare. The commander recalled the memory with ease; however much he longed to forget her face and smile, he was unable to. A part of him still clung to everything that reminded him of her while most of his mind wished to wipe her remembrance from his life. Pushing the silk hanging in his son's doorway, Tharsis turned to the biggest reminder.

Lying on his back, Deimos had his head facing Tharsis; his mouth slightly opened while a deep sleep encumbered his mind. A thick comforter rested at his hips, the plush pillows spread around the head of the bed. The room was silent save for the boy's deep respirations and sound of the wind threatening to invade the room. Eyeing the boy, Tharsis was taken back by the similarities he held with his mother. While majority of the paladin's physical attributes stemmed from Tharsis, many agreeing that the boy was his splitting image, his facial expressions and attitude were similar to that of his mother. He inherited her brilliant smile and laugh; only fueling Tharsis' need to repress the emotion in hope of never being reminded of her. While Deimos took on his father's short temper and aggressive attitude, he had been born with his mother's confidence and serenity.

Sighing as he tore his gaze away from the boy, Tharsis left the room in haste and moved towards the ramp. While he knew sleep wouldn't come to him, the commander was aware of the growing mound of reports that called for his attention in the library. He would drown his sorrowful memories of his wife with the disheartening activities that were taking place in their capital; the city she loved so much.

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The serene noises of night enveloped the Sin'dorei capital in its glory; the sounds of the magnificent fountains' cascading water and singing crickets resonating through the Court of the Sun. The district was void of movement from the citizens and inhabitants that called the region their home, the occasional arcane guardian's glowing presence the only interruption to the calm darkness. While the district was notorious for its serene and peaceful atmosphere even with the waking hours, the nighttime offered more tranquility to the area.

The calmness and stillness didn't extend to all of the residents in the district, however. Shifting from one side of the rounded bed to the other, Deimos futilely tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in his body. Growling in frustration, the young elf longed to fall back asleep; hoping that if he continued to disregard the aching feeling, it would simply desist. Squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to convince his body to discredit the sensation, he knew it was in vain. Throwing the Frostweave blanket from his form with more force than needed, the young elf gave into the clawing and empty feeling of hunger in his abdomen; he would be unable to find peaceful slumber with such an empty stomach.

Leaving the warming bed with much annoyance, Deimos gave a quick glance at the clock that rested on his desk: 0215. Sighing in great frustration, he ran a tired and irritated hand over his face; he would be expected to awaken for another day of training in less than four hours. Sparing a quick glance at the unmade yet inviting bed, he was inclined to give into its lulls. His stomach doing a flip in protest, the paladin reluctantly gave in to his body; food would have to be sought if he expected to fall back asleep. Running a hand through his messy and chaotic hair, he gave a small shake of his head as he made his made his way towards the darkened hallway, remembering why the aches of hunger resonated through his body.

After reaching the house alone following his father's abrupt explosion of anger, Deimos promptly showered in steaming hot water with the attempt to warm his body. His mind was muddled with confused and angry thoughts towards the older Ares'mar; the severe and cruel punishment still fresh in his mind. However, he couldn't brush off the strange behavior the older elf displayed afterwards. When Tharsis returned to the dwelling hours after Deimos, the older elf immediately occupied the library; causing the Deimos to be filled with bewilderment yet fear at the unpredictable behavior. When the time for dinner approached, the paladin was quick to excuse himself from the meal, giving a false claim of illness. He wasn't sure if the older elf would believe him, nor did he particularly care. From the events that happened that day, Deimos was determined to not be in his father's presence. Though he did feel a small pang of guilt at his father's slightly fallen face at hearing he wasn't feeling well, he was quick to disregard it.

Glancing at the darkened master bedroom in thought, Deimos moved to the ramp, his bare feet not making a sound on the polished marble. Beginning the decline, he gave a small shake of his head. As much as he wanted to compel the angered and enraged feelings he projected at his father, he knew they were forced. Guilt and shame accompanied the infuriated emotions, knowing his harsh words to his father were just that; harsh and unforgiving. Reaching the ground floor, Deimos curiously cocked his head to the side at the glowing light that spilt into the darkened foyer from the library. Squinting his eyes in perplexity, the young elf approached the doorway with as much agility his body could muster; alarmed at the presence that inhabited the room. The hour was late, his father likely asleep. Though they lived in the safest and most secure district, no neighborhood was without its criminals and thieves.

Placing his back against the wall next to the doorway to the library, Deimos strained his hearing to pick up on any indication for an identity. At first, he received nothing back from his senses; beginning to think Tharsis simply forgot to end the magically induced glow in the room. A silent sigh escaped his lips as his ears picked up the familiar sound of a quiet tapping. Deimos was familiar with the odd noise; the evidence of a focused and concentrated Tharsis. The commander, when placing full alert and heart into reading reports, would subconsciously begin the notorious tapping of his fingers against the table.

Not moving from his spot, Deimos felt his actions as torn as his emotions. Glancing towards the kitchen doorway, his body longed to receive needed nourishment, his stomach twisting in knots from the lack of food. He could easily move undetected, retrieve some sort of provisions, and retreat back to his room before his father was any of the wiser. However, his conscience was yelling at him to enter the lit up library. He still felt guilty for the brutal words he used to verbally attack the older elf; though a small voice inside his head told him to believe otherwise. He spent his complete existence under his father's dominating and overbearing eye; he was long overdue for an outburst.

"If you want to talk, come in here. If not, go back to bed."

Rolling his eyes at his father's knowing voice, Deimos' choice was made up for him; escape was no longer an option. Pushing back the silks that hung in the library, the young elf slowly and reluctantly entered the large room, his eyes squinting in response to the bright lights. His feet moving across the cold marble, Deimos eyed his father sitting behind the desk with curiosity. The older elf was dressed similarly as the paladin in night clothes, his usually pulled back hair hanging loosely around his face. Though Deimos was inclined to question the state of his appearance, he didn't dare voice it.

Sighing as he stopped in front of the desk, Tharsis eyeing him with a blank expression, the young elf let his arms hang limply at his sides. Breaking the hard eye contact, Deimos shifted from one foot to the other. "I-I'm sorry for what I said before. It was disrespectful of me. And…I'm sorry."

Leaning back in the cushioned chair, Tharsis lifted a brow while he eyed his son skeptically. "Is that it?"

His fair cheeks flushing red, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, I mean, I guess. What else do you want?"

Smirking at the flustered elf, the commander gave a small shake of his head. "I was unaware that I asked for anything. I believe it was you that was stalking me outside the library." Pausing to give a hand gesture to a white lavish couch resting next to the desk, Tharsis eyed the clock somewhat hidden underneath the mounds of parchment on his desk. "Why are you up so late?"

Thankfully sitting on the lush piece of furniture, its pillows and cushions enticing Deimos to slumber, he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "I'm hungry and couldn't fall back asleep." Pausing to eye the older elf scrutinizing him, the paladin brought his brows together in confusion. "Why are you awake?"

Promptly ignoring the question from the boy, Tharsis nodded towards the doorway as he pushed the chair out from under him to stand. "I was going to get myself something to eat anyways. I'll grab you something as well."

Nodding his head in silent thanks to his father, Deimos kept his questioning and curious eyes on the taller elf's retreating form leaving the room. The offer to retrieve him nourishment was surprising to the young elf; his mind still remembering the harsh and severe punishment from earlier. It seemed, however, his father was less determined to brood on the earlier event.

Left alone in the large and ominous room, Deimos allowed his eyes to roam the vaulted ceilings and looming bookshelves packed with bound volumes and scrolls. The room always held a threatening and intimidating feel to it; the place Tharsis spent most his time. When being educated by his father, the library served as a makeshift classroom; though it had been some time since the young elf used the room as such. While his father continued to challenge him academically with reading and theoretical conversations, his formal schooling had come to an end. He had no true qualms with his education coming to a standstill; he learned what his age group was taught in three months in one night on the battlefield. While he couldn't do calculi based equations or give a rhetorical analysis on poetry, Deimos excelled in strategy and tactic; the perfect combination for a soldier. He was well-versed with the battles that made up the three wars, having memorized reports and summaries from each officer. Though he read the famous poets and authors of Azeroth, the young elf had no desire to further his education in the subject. Thinking about Elik and the other elves that made up his age group, the paladin was thankful that he was raised in the manner he was; his training and instruction having meaning and showing results on the battlefield.

Eyeing the parchment covered desk, Deimos pushed himself to his tired feet. Moving towards the piece of furniture, he stood over the wooden surface, leaning his hands on the edge. The desk was an object of intimidation and fear when he was an elfling, usually seeing is father sitting behind the great table. Brows together in interest as he roamed his green eyes over the disarray of parchment, Deimos was careful to keep the pieces of paper in their place; though they seemed disorganized to him, he was sure Tharsis had an order to them. Leaning over the surface in concentration as a sentence on one of the parchments caught his eye, Deimos narrowed his gaze at the report.

…_marking the third disappearance within a month. Discrete investigations have been undertaken to determine the possible cause. Connections to the previous abductions have been concluded. _

His eyes darting down the paper, the young elf tilted his head in confusion; the reports scattered around the piece of intel he was reading seemed to mirror the same account.

_...the Magisters have denied an increase in patrols to Murder Row. Arcane guardians have been programmed to guard the region though there's doubt about the effectiveness of the decision. _

"What are you doing?"

Whipping his head up in surprise and shock, Deimos felt his breath hitch in his throat as his eyes met his father's. Taking in the two plates of food in Tharsis' hands, the young elf straightened from his leaned position over the desk; an embarrassed flush making its way across his face. Moving from behind the piece of furniture to meet his slightly annoyed father, Deimos gestured to the strewn reports decorating the wooden surface. "What are the reports talking about? What's happening in Murder Row?"

Heaving a deep sigh at the younger elf's inquisitive yet innocent question, Tharsis handed him the small plate; a delicately cut piece of cake resting in the center. Watching as Deimos moved to sit down back at the white couch, the older elf walked to the desk; running a tired hand over his face. "I would have preferred you not have read that."

Glancing down at the dessert that sat on his plate, Deimos gave a sheepish shrug in response; there was little the commander could do now. His interest and curiosity was elevated; the strange behavior from his father a week prior in Murder Row immediately stemming to mind. "What's happened? Who disappeared?"

Sighing at the genuinely questioning and fascinated voice, Tharsis took a small bite out of his snack; careful to rest the plate away from the delicate and important reports on the desk. Eyeing the concerned look on his son's face, the commander was tremendously hesitant to answer the boy. "If I tell you, you're not to get involved. Understood?"

The strange request taking him off guard, the paladin gave a small nod of his head. Usually, Tharsis was quick to educate his son on a report or piece of intel; finding every bit of new information useful in rounding the boy as a soldier. To see the concerned and worried look on his father's face only increased his interest at the odd report.

His eyes moving from the reports in front of him to the young elf, Tharsis took a deep breath. "For the past couple of months there have been… disappearances. At first, the Magisters passed it off as runaways or typical criminal activity. I didn't start receiving intel on it until a month ago; when more light was shed on the problem." Pausing to glance at the desk in thought, the commander cautiously continued. "Too many elves vanished to be able to pass it off as coincidences. Investigations were conducted, but we didn't find anything. And then a witness came forward."

Leaning forward in interest, Deimos eyed the hesitant older elf; the uncomfortable look making him begin to feel anxious at the words.

"The witness said they saw a group abduct some elves from Murder Row; using poisons and potions to subdue them. There was hardly a struggle."

Shaking his head at the words, Deimos shifted uncomfortably on the couch; the words not making sense to him. "Abduct them? Why? How many abductions have happened?"

Lifting a hand to give a gesture to the elf to calm the barrage of questions, Tharsis gave a tired sigh, his eyes roaming over the young elf's eager face. "Total, about fifty elves have disappeared; most last seen in Murder Row." Pausing as if willing the sentences to form themselves, the older elf struggled grasp the correct words. "The witness was able to describe a symbol on the abductors; we were able to identify it pretty easily. It was the Trade Coalition emblem."

Brows scrunched together in puzzlement, Deimos gave a small confused shake of his head. "Trade Coalition? What would they be doing in Silvermoon?"

Sighing at his son's naivety and adolescence, the older elf ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "They're here for trading. Trafficking." Pausing to see if any recognition dawned on his son's face, Tharsis watched the blood drain from his features. "The elves being captured are sold into slavery."

Eyes roaming his father's face, Deimos was unable to hide the horror and shock at the news. While slave trading wasn't unheard of, the young elf never had any experience with the sick business. He knew the goblins were involved in the illegal marketing but knew nothing else regarding the matter. "The report said the Magisters won't increase patrols. Why? Don't they know about the problem?"

Snorting darkly at the comment, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course they do. They just don't see it as their problem… yet. We're trying to keep this under the radar. If the citizens knew this was happening, the city would break out into pandemonium. We're trying to deal with the issue undetected."

Nodding distractedly at the words, a thought crossed the young elf's mind; his head cocked to the side in curiosity. "Why don't you want me getting involved? I want to help."

A stern and firm gaze boring into the paladin, Tharsis pursed his lips in resolution; he knew the boy would be adamant with complicating himself in the matter. "No, Deimos. You're not to meddle in this, and that's an order." Pausing for a second to see his son open his mouth to protest, the commander was quick to cut him off; answering the question he was sure lingered on the younger elf's lips. "Majority of the elves abducted were between the ages of twenty and fifty; all males."

Understanding seeping into him, Deimos shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his eyes breaking the contact with his father. "_Ann'da_, I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I doubt the other elves have a lifetime of military training."

"Deimos!" Tharsis couldn't conceal the worried emotions from his firm voice, the uncharacteristic sound surprising his ears. "This isn't a time to be cocky or arrogant. This a lot larger than you think; I want you nowhere near this."

Sighing at the stern voice, Deimos leaned back against the couch. His mind was reeling for all the miniscule information he remembered hearing about the slave trades; but it was bare. "What kind of slavery is it? Who's buying them?"

Running a tired hand over the nape of his neck, Tharsis shook his head. "The intel we have regarding the slave trafficking is extremely diminutive. The goblins are, sadly, very good at covering their tracks." Pausing to shift uncomfortably, Tharsis eyed the reports on the table resting in front of him. "The age of the elves abducted could suggest multiple slave rings; physical labor, personal interest, sex, or military. It makes pinpointing the location harder too." Glancing at the pale and sick look that overcame his son's face, Tharsis leaned forward towards the boy. "Deimos, listen to me. You are to stay away from Murder Row and pretend you didn't hear any of this. Brightwing and I are working on it. Understood?"

Vaguely nodding, Deimos was taken back by the sheer anxiety and worry in Tharsis voice. Eyeing the half eaten snack in front of him, he felt his appetite flee his body. He couldn't fathom the disgusting trading; least of it happening to people from his city. Growing up in Silvermoon his entire life, the young elf always viewed the capital with security and protection; the thick walls subduing the dangers from the outside world. The fact that the threat was somewhere looming inside Silvermoon made the hair on the back his neck stand up, his stomach twisting into a knot. Though he was compelled to try to aid in the investigation, he would respect his father's wishes and keep himself uninvolved. While he felt confident in his ability to fight off a group of attackers, Deimos would abide by the commander's orders. Though, he felt based on the unease and alarm in Tharsis' voice, the order wasn't given from a commander-soldier standpoint, but rather a more parental one. Glancing up curiously at his father, who was inspecting a piece of parchment in front of him, Deimos wondered where the paternal emotion had originated from; the actions and severe discipline from the older elf hours before contrasting greatly with the concern displayed. Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin knew he'd never receive an answer. His father's closed demeanor never allowed for more insight on his behavior. Sighing, a small smile going across his face, Deimos felt a small amount of bliss at the strange yet welcoming manners from Tharsis. He didn't know what caused such a change in the older elf but he sent a silent prayer to the Light or whoever caused the alteration to allow it to happen it again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks so much to everyone who's been following the story! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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Readjusting the long sword that hung from his back, Deimos fiddled with the lock on the front door; his key choosing to be difficult. Pursing his lips in frustration at the inanimate object refusing to comply with his wish to enter his home, the young elf felt his shirt cling to his sweating body uncomfortably as the lingering sun bore down on him. Staying up long into the night discussing the slavery issue with his father, Tharsis had allowed the boy to sleep past his usual waking time; informing him they wouldn't be taking the day to train. Instead, Tharsis had an impromptu meeting arranged for the entire duration of the day, though he still longed for Deimos to practice. Sending the boy to Master Pyreanor, a paladin trainer, the commander felt comfortable knowing Deimos was receiving proper lessons from his class instructor.

Cursing quietly at the stubborn lock, Deimos was half tempted to pull his plate armor off and remove his shirt; his body covered in a sheen layer of sweat under the layers. Having just returned from training, the young elf longed for a cool shower and the meal he knew was awaiting him; the setting sun giving evidence to the approaching dinner time. The sky was painted in an array of oranges and pinks, the clouds trying to retain some of their white color despite the cascade of colors influencing them.

Growling in frustration, the heat becoming overbearing, Deimos gave a strong turn of his key while pushing heavily on the thick door. Feeling the lock finally give in to his workings and the door swing open, the young elf gave a small sigh of relief; gladly entering the large foyer. He was unsure if Tharsis occupied the house or if he was still caught up in the unplanned meeting; not bothering to strain his hearing to listen for movement from the older elf. Ripping his sword off his back with impatient force, Deimos was sure to keep one hand gripping the hilt; a lecture would be sure to follow if he left the weapon unattended and discarded it on the marbled floor. His armor, however, was a different story. Pulling the heavy chest piece from his body, Deimos dropped it to the floor with a thud; his sweat soaked shirt soon following. The practice session with the paladin trainer had been trying and difficult; though Deimos reveled in every second of it. Focusing on increasing his spell tolerance, the trainer had put the boy through drills that coupled expert swordsmanship with difficult holy attacks; leaving the young elf exhausted and panting.

Grateful to be free of the constricting material, Deimos still held his grip on the sword; he'd place the weapon to its proper resting place in his quarters. Eyeing the discarded armor lying on the floor, he would pick it up later, most likely after eating dinner. His attention no longer solely focused on relieving himself from the uncomfortable layers, the young elf turned his head as he heard movement in the library. Cocking his head to side in curiosity, he presumed his father had already returned home. Smiling in enthusiasm, Deimos looked forward to informing the commander of the progress he made with the paladin trainer. The prospect of showcasing what he learned during their drills together was exciting.

Moving to the library, Deimos gave a broad smile, pushing back the silks that hung in the doorway. "_Ann'da_, I'm back. I learned a stronger shielding spell, though my mana's pretty much gone after using it. I'll have to show-"

Entering the large and imposing room, Deimos paused mid-sentence, his feet turning to lead at the sight in front of him. Seated at the long table resting in the middle of the library, all facing him with curious and interested eyes were the Magisters. Placed at the head of the table was Lor'themar, his brow lifted at the odd interruption. On the right side of the leader was Brightwing, an amused smirk on his face at the paladin's discomfort. Seated to the left of Lor'themar was Tharsis, his lips pursed in annoyance at his son's abrupt disruption.

A blush crossing his fair cheeks, Deimos felt embarrassed and humiliated as he stood shirtless and long sword in his grasp. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, his pants full of dirt and debris from the day's training. Opening and closing his mouth, the paladin was at a loss for words; his anxious and degrading position causing his brow to sweat.

A small chuckle resonated throughout the room, his laugh echoing across the walls. Turning a curious gaze at the source of the noise, Deimos was surprised to find it emitting from a magister; a wide smile on his face. "Wow, Tharsis; he's looking like you more every time I see him."

Glancing from Magister Darenis' amused face to Deimos' nervous body, Tharsis couldn't help the small smile that crossed his lips as he glimpsed around the room. Indeed, his son's battle-ready body was a sight for the Magisters to see. His bare chest showed the years of physical conditioning the commander put him through, his strong grip on the imposing and heavy sword displaying a childhood of rigorous training. Oddly, Tharsis felt pride at his son swell in his chest; feeling as if he was displaying a trophy. A sinister snicker on the other side of the table drew the commander's attention away from Deimos' anxious face; his gaze resting on the Grand Magister's mocking eyes. Sitting beside Rommath was his son, Elik, whom he declared was gaining real life experience from attending the meeting; much to many of their apprehensions.

"And I see he's inherited your lack of respect as well."

The comment putting him at more unease, Deimos darted his eyes between his father and the Grand Magister, his eyes briefly passing over Elik's sneering face, tempting Deimos to send a snide remark his way. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he nervously scratched the back of his neck. "I-I…I'm sorry. I didn't realize the meeting was here. And…I'll just leave."

Grinning at the stammering young elf, Lor'themar allowed a full smile to spread on his features; sparing a look at Tharsis' irritated face from Rommaths' comment. "You're fine, Deimos. I believe we were just finishing up. The day has grown late; I'll send word when we'll reconvene."

Unsure if he was supposed to stay in their presence or retreat into the house, an action he longed to do, Deimos stood awkwardly by the doorway while the room full of elves stood up from their seated positions. His hands griping the sword more firmly as his eyes fell on Elik's sniping face, the paladin felt aggravation overcome the anxious feelings in his body. Detesting the elf naturally, the paladin's anger and annoyance increased significantly seeing him in his home.

Moving to stand to the side of the doorway while the older elves began to file into the grand foyer, Deimos gave respectful tilts of his head as each one passed him. He was raised and taught to show esteem and politeness to the Magisters; their influential and authoritarian behavior calling for such. While Lor'themar was the designated leader of the Sin'dorei, he lacked the power the council of magi held. His father working closely with the Magisters, the young elf had grown up knowing their presence and how to behavior accordingly in front of them.

His eyes narrowing in anger as Elik gave a smirk and stared him up and down, Deimos clenched his teeth in frustration. The Grand Magister's close presence prevented the paladin from speaking his mind to the other elf, knowing full well the repercussions that would follow. The last Magister leaving the library, Deimos felt a hand clasp his naked shoulder; his eyes turning to inspect the new presence. Standing beside him was Brightwing, a broad smile on his face. "You sure know how to make an entrance." Pausing to chuckle, Deimos rolling his eyes, the ranger-general allowed the smile to fade from his face; his eyes darting to Tharsis speaking with the group of elves in the foyer. "How've you been? Things been ok?"

Nodding at the unspoken question, the paladin gave a small smile. "Some days better than others but it's going." Pausing to spare a quick glance at his father, who continued to bid farewell to the elves, Deimos gave a small sigh. "I still want to return to Stormwind though. Don't get me wrong; I love Silvermoon and my home. But, I don't know. I miss the city and my friends."

A forced grin spreading on his face, Brightwing gave a motion towards the foyer, suggesting they join the leaving group. "Give him time, Deimos. He may come around."

Quick to end the conversation as he entered the lavish foyer, Deimos stopped dutifully beside his father; who turned his curious gaze from the Grand Magister in front of him to glance at his son. Standing loyally beside Rommath was Elik, his mocking eyes enticing the paladin to send a hard punch to his face. Narrowing his eyes in annoyance to the other elf, Deimos shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Well, Tharsis, I look forward to seeing you at the end of the week then," Rommath said to the older Ares'mar, who turned his blank gaze back to the Grand Magister; a small nod of his head in response.

Twisting the hilt of the sword in his hand distractedly, Deimos eyed his father's expressionless face; the older elf well versed with concealing his frustrated emotions at the Magisters. "Will the next meeting take place here?"

Chuckling mockingly and debasing, the Grand Magister gave a small shake of his head as he eyed the paladin swing the heavy sword around as if it were a toy. "Meeting? Your family is hosting the annual Onth'Talah celebration this year." Pausing to see Deimos' confused face, Rommath gave a sardonic chuckle. "Or have you forgotten about the important gala that remembers our race's history? It seems you were in that human city for far too long."

A deep blush spreading across his cheeks, the paladin pursed his lips together; part from anger and part in fear of an insult slipping from his mouth. The Onth'Talah celebration was an event the Sin'dorei took part in every year; Deimos being forced to commemorate the past. The annual festivities honored the dark spot in their race's history when Prince Kael'Thalas renamed the race the Sin'dorei, or blood elves, after the Scourge nearly forced their people to extinction. Sparing a quick glance at Tharsis in curiosity, Deimos forced a small smile on his face as he turned back to the grinning Grand Magister; his son reveling in the bewildered look that briefly passed over the paladin's face. "I've been so preoccupied with my training it seems the date completely slipped my mind." Pausing to send a smirking glare at the young mage, Deimos allowed a small edge to linger in his voice. "Elik, is the academy still forcing the students to write those reports pertaining to Onth'Talah?"

Narrowing his eyes in anger at the jab, Elik clenched his jaw in fury, sending a brief glance to his father before turning his rage towards the young paladin. "Those _reports_ are assigned to respect and commemorate our fallen brethren and people, Deimos. Pray tell, seeing as how you're obviously not enrolled in the academy, how do you honor the event? Or have the humans convinced you to forget our history all together?"

His blood boiling as he glared at Elik's smirking face, Deimos gripped the sword tighter; taking a threatening and aggressive step towards the other elf, their faces inches apart. "Step outside with me, Elik, and I'll show you how."

Immediately placing a strong and firm hand on his son's bare chest, Tharsis gave him a push backwards; his stern gaze eyeing Deimos' angered face. The commander was well aware of the turmoil relationship between the younger elves; his own with the older Rommath not on the best of terms. However, he raised the boy to show more respect, especially in the presence of the Magisters and officers. His eyes going from Deimos' enraged face to a nearly identical one on Elik's, Tharsis knew if a physical altercation did ensue, there would be no contest. While the young mage had proficient skills in the art of arcane magic, he paled considerably to Deimos' lifetime of harsh conditioning.

Keeping an unyielding hand on the shorter elf, Tharsis spared a quick look at the Grand Magister; his eyes glaring at Deimos' face. The look made the older Ares'mar uncomfortable, his own gaze turning back to the boy; who refused to tear his attention away from Elik's face. "Deimos, that's quite enough. If it's pent up frustration that's fueling your attitude, I'll have no issue helping you vent it later."

The stern voice pulling him from his angered trance, Deimos tore his gaze away from Elik's; who smirked at Tharsis' comment. Allowing his posture to relax considerably, the young elf swallowed hard as he turned to his father's strict face. Opening his mouth sheepishly to apologize, the paladin was cut off by a looming presence that approached the group; his strong yet lighthearted voice drawing their attention to him. "Rommath, the day grows late. We must depart soon."

Sending a thankful look at Lor'themar, Deimos was surprised to see the leader return the look with a small smile; a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the Grand Magister. Nodding respectfully at Lor'themar, Rommath turned a hardened glare at Tharsis. "I'll see you at the gala then." Pausing as he glanced at Deimos standing to side of the older elf, the Grand Magister gave a dark smirk. "Let's hope you have your elfling under more control."

Promptly ignoring the insult directed at him, Tharsis gave the elf a tight nod of his head. "Till then, Rommath."

Walking dutifully behind his father while the group of elves departed the dwelling, Deimos glanced at the taller elf beside him; Lor'themar sending a small grin his way. "There's a not soul in this room that wouldn't pay to see you break his nose, young one. But I would suggest not doing so under his father's watchful eye."

Grinning at the leader's words, Deimos eyed Lor'themar in thought. As with Brightwing and Rommath, he had grown up around the older elf; his father working closely with him. However, his time around Lor'themar was significantly shortened compared with Brightwing; though their meetings were usually a warming experience. The paladin had a deep respect and admiration for the Regent-Lord; his brave yet honorable intentions appealing to the younger elf.

Watching his father bid farewell to the last of the elves that left the house, the setting sun showcasing the dying day and only reaffirming Deimos' longing for dinner, the young elf gave a small sigh. Balancing the sharpened tip of the sword on the marbled floor, the paladin leaned his weight on the pommel of the weapon while he patiently waited for the lingering officers to leave; knowing full well the lecture that was sure to commence from his father. Already silently berating himself, Deimos knew his actions were brash and stupid. He already suspected the Grand Magister had a disliking for him, the aggressive action towards his son only confirming the thought. He had allowed Elik to aggravate and frustrate him; placing himself right where the mage wanted. Gritting his teeth in annoyance at his lack of self-reserve, the paladin gave a small shake of his head; there would be repercussions for his actions in some way.

Hearing the front door shut, Deimos was quick to react with haste. Bending down, he scooped up the discarded plate armor forgotten on the floor; slightly surprised that it was left unnoticed from the officers and Magisters. Quickly glancing at his father turning around from the shut door, the paladin briskly walked to the ramp that would lead to his escape. "Well, I'm going to go shower before dinner. I'll be quick."

His free hand gripping the golden railing, Deimos began to scale the marbled ramp; a grin going across his face. Silence responded his remark, a small feeling of triumph swelling in his chest. Smart to not slow his ascent, the young elf was surprised the Light had granted him such a miracle.

"Wait."

Closing his eyes in frustration, his hand squeezing the railing in annoyance, Deimos growled in displeasure. He was far too optimistic to assume the older Ares'mar would reward him with such a reprise. Sighing in irritation, the paladin slowly turned around; his imploring green eyes meeting Tharsis' stern ones. Standing beside the table in the center of the lavish foyer, the commander had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his weight leaned to one side in impatience. The stance wasn't unfamiliar to Deimos; it was the one his father assumed prior to a lecture. Rolling his eyes at the unspoken request, the young elf retreated back down the ramp in defeat, carefully placing the plate armor on the ground in preparation for a long talk.

"Ok," Deimos began, his voice careful to keep any evidence of disdain or mockery out; only to be filled with obedience and respect. "I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have insulted and tried to start a fight with Elik. It was a lapse in my judgment. I'm sorry." Pausing to lift his eyes from the floor to inspect his father's reaction, he was rewarded with a blank and expressionless face staring back at him; causing a sigh to escape his lips. "Oh, and I'm sorry for interrupting your meeting. Not that it's fully my fault; you forgot to mention it was here. But I shouldn't have barged in like I did; but then again, you don't ever knock when invading _my_ privacy so maybe I'm just picking up your habits." Breaking in his speech to watch Tharsis lift a brow at the words, his face still plain and vacant, Deimos gave a frustrated sigh. "Alright, now I'm sorry for disrespecting you. Yeah, I know; 'privacy is a privilege that you earn' – or whatever it is that you say. So I should have knocked or at least checked to see that there were guests over. You know, because I have to check for that _so_ often." Closing his eyes at the lack of progress the apology he was making and sarcasm in his voice, Deimos gave a small shake of his head, wishing he could start the speech over. "I guess what I'm _trying_ to say is that I'm sorry for… embarrassing you; especially in front of the Magisters. I know how much their opinions matter. Well, not really opinions but their judgment. And I guess busting into the meeting half naked didn't really help your favor. So for that, I'm sorry. And for insulting and showing aggression towards Elik in front of Rommath."

Eyes narrowing at his rambling son in front of him, Tharsis tilted his head. "Are you done yet?"

Face contorted in concentration while his eyes scanned the polished floor in front of him, Deimos gave an uncertain nod of his head. "I think so; unless you want a longer apology."

"That was an apology? I couldn't tell if you were begging for forgiveness or trying to bore me to death."

Brows up in thought, the younger elf gave a small shrug; surprised at the amused look on the commander's face. "Well, which one was closer?"

Heaving a deep sigh, Tharsis uncrossed his arms as he eyed the paladin in front of him. "You're lecture will have to wait till after you shower. I doubt I'd be able to get half way through without passing out from your horrid stench."

Bending down to retrieve the armor lying next to him, Deimos couldn't stop the victorious smile that painted his features. His father was in high spirits; indicating the meeting had gone well. "You know, you used to tell me that was the smell of a good day's work. And now you're complaining about it?"

"I'm not having dinner with you if you don't bathe. So if you plan on eating tonight, I would suggest hurrying." Eyeing his son moving up the ramp, a light bounce in his step from feeling successful at postponing the speech, Tharsis felt his amused expression slip from his face. "But Deimos, you should watch yourself, especially around Rommath."

Pausing in his ascent, the young elf turned around; escape seemed too easy. Meeting his father's dark face, he gave a small nod; his voice calm. "I know. And usually I'm good with it." Pausing to scratch the nape of his neck with his free hand, the paladin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "And really, I am sorry for embarrassing you. It wasn't my intention."

Narrowing his eyes while he scrutinized his son under a hard stare, Tharsis gave a small nod in thought. "Go shower."

Sighing in relief, the paladin escalated the ramp with an odd combination of emotions. The most prevalent feeling was utter shock and surprise at his father's reaction, or rather lack thereof. Such irresponsible and brash actions called for disciplining and a prompt lecture; he received neither from the commander. Instead, he was rewarded with dismissive comments that disregarded the actions. Such behavior from his strict father seemed uncharacteristic and odd; though the young elf wasn't complaining. He would gladly accept the peculiar manner from the older elf. However, he was unsure if Tharsis would hold him true to being lecture at a later time.

Making his way to the top of the ramp, Deimos moved down the hall towards his room. The fading sun graced the rooms in glowing twilight; the arcane based lights slowly taking over in illuminating the rooms. Stepping into his quarters, the young elf was quick to first enter his closet; his thoughts dominated by the feelings swirling inside him. An ebbing anger still filled his being; his rage being directed at both Elik and his father. While he could verbally assault the younger of the two, Deimos was powerless to defend himself against the Grand Magister's words; the helpless feeling only infuriating him more. He knew his father, if provoked enough, would be quick to subdue Rommath's insults; mostly out of defending his own honor rather than Deimos'.

Shaking his head in frustration while he placed his armor in its proper resting place on a shelf far into the closet, the young paladin quickly grabbed a set of night clothes on his way out. Feeling his stomach clench in protest from hunger, he increased his pace; the aroma of food a floor below fueling his fastened steps.

* * *

Moving his restless hands from their position on the desk, Tharsis turned the page of the report to begin reading the next section. The account was from an older woman who witnessed a group of humans forcefully abduct a young elf; the tale disturbing and putting the commander in unease. While the witness was exceedingly aged, she seemed adamant on her story and the plausibility of it. Her small and meager home nestled in the heart of Murder Row, the witness claimed she saw the group silently subdue the elf with minimal effort; their larger statures and potions easily overpowering the lone elf. Her report said the altercation happened swift and nearly soundless; the humans moving with proficiency and determination. Sighing in frustration while he pushed the chair back, Tharsis began to pace the library in thought.

When he first received the intel about the odd string of disappearances of elves, he dismissed the cause as rebellious youths; the ages of those missing bearing similarity. However, the overabundance of reports became disheartening and overwhelming. Talking with several parents of the missing elves, Tharsis was taken back to hear that majority of them were responsible and conscientious; excelling in their studies at the academy and respectable to their parents. Such manners didn't seem reasonable to dismiss as a runaway case. It wasn't until the first witness stepped forth with their account of an abduction in Murder Row that Tharsis began to take the disappearances gravely. When the bystander was able to describe the Trade Coalition symbol on the captors', he knew immediately what they were dealing with. Shaking his head in disgust, Tharsis found the notion of slave trading a vile and dishonorable act. A being wasn't a piece of property or object; it wasn't meant to be traded and sold as such.

"You ready?"

Looking up from his pacing at the doorway, Tharsis eyed the boy leaning against the frame. Wearing a short sleeved shirt and baggy night pants, Deimos gave his father a questioning look. His blonde hair was still damp; the spiky style hindered by the lingering water that weighed it down. His mind clearing, Tharsis willed his thoughts to forget what was written on the mounds of parchment resting on the desk; he would return to it after the meal.

Slightly surprised at his father's unfocused gaze eyeing him, Deimos pushed himself off the door frame; raising a curious brow at the older elf. "If it's a bad time, I can come back."

Shaking his head in hopes of clearing the disturbing and troublesome thoughts from the reports, Tharsis moved towards the paladin with a large sigh. "No, it's fine. My mind's just slightly preoccupied."

Glancing at the taller elf's face, Deimos gave a small nod as the two moved towards the parlor. When first entering the library, the young elf was taken aback by the thoughtful yet darkened look on his father's face. Even still, remnants of dismay still lingered on his features as they walked through the house. "You look tired. Reading more boring reports?"

The question taking him slightly off-guard as they entered the parlor, Tharsis spared a quick look at the shorter elf beside him. Indeed, the commander felt tired and worn; the meeting and intel taking its toll on his body and mind. "No, unfortunately."

The short answer hinting that the commander didn't wish to pursue the conversation, Deimos wasn't quick to heed to his request. Pushing back the silks that hung in the doorway to the dining room, the young elf raised a questioning brow at his father. "Does it have to do with the meeting?"

Entering the lavish dining area, Tharsis approached the rounded table. The room was decorated in a similar fashion as the rest of the house; ebony marble making up the floor and an elaborate chandelier hanging in the center of the delicately carved ceiling. The black stucco walls were concealed behind red silks that hung from the top of the chandelier, draped to the walls, and hung loosely to the polished floor. In the center of the room rested a large circular table, its purple surface accented around the sides with brushed gold. The chairs surrounding the table were majestic and opulent, the golden frames enclosing red cushioned seats. Two spots at the table were set for dinner; posh golden chargers lying beneath white porcelain plates filled with food. Resting to the sides of the plates were rows of Adamantite utensils, while filled wine glasses sat above.

Taking his seat at his usual spot, Tharsis gave a small nod. "We received another statement from an eye witness in Murder Row."

Eyeing the food on his plate while he took his own seat, Deimos couldn't help the small smile on his lips. One characteristic that Silvermoon had over Stormwind was the excellence of food. While the Pig and Whistle Tavern in Old Town wasn't particularly the worst quality, it stood no contest to the luscious and succulent food the young elf was accustomed to. Having grown up with a Grand Master chef that would prepare their meals, Deimos had developed a lavish and expensive palate; which annoyed Warren to no end. The boy would openly complain about the lack of choices the tavern offered, mostly with the intent to rouse a response from his human host. While the Sagefish Delight was viewed as a specialty dish in the human tavern, it had no competition with the Dragonfin Filet Deimos eyed on his plate.

Looking up at his father sitting across the table, Deimos sent him a curious look. "Do you think maybe the Alliance would want to help?"

Sipping the fine wine in his glass, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. "We're not asking them. We just joined; we don't need them thinking we're weak and can't take care of our own city."

Picking up the glowing utensil, the young elf poked the delicate fish on his plate in thought; choosing not to acknowledge his father's response. "Do we have any idea how they're getting in and out of the city unseen?"

"We've torn apart Murder Row and found nothing. There's most likely a warlock hiding here, summoning the others. As for leaving, a mage could easily portal out." Pausing to swallow a piece of the filet, Tharsis pointed his fork at the younger elf across the table; whose face was clouded in thought. "I already told you though; I don't want you getting involved."

Nodding while he took a large drink from his own glass of wine, Deimos concealed a sigh of impatience. Though he was considered underage to consume the alcoholic beverage, Tharsis allowed the paladin to do so at meals; a glass of wine would refine his taste for the fine drink. "Yeah, I know."

"Good."

Several beats of silence passed over the room, each elf mutely eating the food on their plates. Soundless meals weren't unfamiliar for the father and son; silence would usually envelope the dining room. On occasion, the commander would bring arms filled with reports to the meal, scattering the pages around the table while he ate. Deimos would sit in the deadly silence, sometimes pulling a page across the table when Tharsis wasn't looking to keep himself entertained. A thought coming to mind, Tharsis glanced over at the younger elf. "We're hosting the Onth'Talah gala this year."

Surprised at the interruption to the silence from his father, Deimos lifted surprised brows. "Yeah, I heard."

Frowning slightly at the lack of response, the commander took a sip out of his glass. "I meant to tell you earlier, but I must have forgotten."

Nodding at the comment, the paladin was unsure if he was meant to reply to the remark. The imploring tone that lingered in the words led him to believe his father was attempting to stir an actual conversation with him; but he quickly disregarded the thought.

Silence sweeping over the room for several seconds, the older elf shifted in his chair as he eyed the silent boy. His hair was drying, the natural spikiness slowly displaying itself. "Will you ever grow your hair out?"

The abrupt and personal question from his father taking him off guard, the fork fell from the paladin's grasp, landing on the plate with a loud bang. Unconsciously running a hand through his short hair, Deimos shifted in his chair at the odd question. Cropped hair was seen in the Sin'dorei culture as a modish and young fashion, the style not typically extending to the adults or older elves that made up the race. Shrugging while he picked up the utensil, the young elf glanced nervously at his father; unsure where the question was headed. "Probably not. I like it short."

Nodding at the small answer, Tharsis stole another sip from his glass; the boy refused to commence a conversation with him. "You're getting older; I just figured you'd adopt a more mature style."

Deimos blinked at his father. "I'm only twenty."

Glancing down at his plate, Tharsis picked at his food. "Almost twenty-one."

Narrowing his eyes at his father, the younger elf glanced at his face in thought. The comment from the commander was peculiar and odd; the older elf typically ignoring each passing birthday the paladin had. The date would usually be celebrated with a day full of hard training, his father pushing the young elf to his limits. Tharsis would regard him with a distance and coldness that put him in unease and discomfort; though he knew the reason behind his father's harsh attitude. The day not only celebrated his birth but also his mother's death. While Tharsis refused to discuss his mother with Deimos, Brightwing had reluctantly gave sparse details of her. He divulged enough to relay the deep love and compassion the husband and wife shared; her death slowly killing Tharsis from the inside out.

Eyeing the folded napkin that rested in his lap, Deimos gave a small shrug. "Yeah, I guess it's coming up."

"A couple months. Not that twenty-one is any more of a meaningful age."

Swallowing hard, the young elf tried futilely to decipher the direction of the conversation or hidden meaning behind the commander's words. While his tone was light and innocent, Deimos couldn't help but feel skeptical at the older elf. "Well, now it's seventy-nine more years till I'm an adult. I'm slowly getting there."

Placing the goblet on the table after taking a sip, Tharsis gazed over at the younger elf watching him. Turning his eyes down to the table, the commander offered the paladin a small smile. "Already counting down to when you can move out?"

Watching his father under examining eyes, Deimos was stunned to see a brief look of hurt cross over Tharsis' features. As quickly as it came, it was gone; overcome by the blank and expressionless façade that was usually painted on the older elf's face. Feeling his cheeks burn, the paladin shifted uncomfortably in the chair; a quick smile going across his face. "Don't take it personally, but I want my own place. You know, privacy."

Lifting his eyes up to meet his son's, Tharsis responded in a quiet voice. "Your own place in Silvermoon or Stormwind?"

The temperature in the room seemed, to the young elf, to plummet. A deep cold enveloped his body as he glanced into similar green eyes; the knowing look from his father making him even more uncomfortable. However much he willed himself, Deimos couldn't hide the shocked expression on his face from the question. Casting his eyes down to the table in hopes of his father not reading his emotions, he knew it was in vain; the older elf would be quick to notice his expression.

Laughing lightly at the nervousness Deimos displayed, Tharsis leaned back against the chair, his arms crossing over his chest. "So even after a little over a week at home, you still prefer the human city?"

Careful to keep his eyes focused on the gold accenting the edge of the table, the young elf answered in a quiet, hesitant voice. "I Iove Silvermoon and my home. I grew up here. But…" pausing to glance up at his father, who watched him through examining eyes, Deimos gave a defeated sigh; his reply coming out in a hushed tone. "I have friends in Stormwind; people who I can actually go out with."

"Friends?" Tharsis asked scathingly, leaning forward on the table towards the quiet boy; Deimos' hunched forward shoulders giving evidence to dismayed feelings. "_Friends_ will only fail you, Deimos. I've taught you your whole life to not rely on another. And after spending a mere half year with these humans you're quick to disregard that?"

Sending his eyes back down to the table, Deimos blinked several times in discomfort. He knew the conversation was a losing battle. Sighing deeply, the young elf slowly lifted his eyes up to meet his father's gaze. He couldn't bring his voice to raise higher than its hushed tone, his reply coming out small. "It's not just humans. I'm friends with a gnome, too. She saved my life multiple times." Pausing as Tharsis darkly chuckled at the words, Deimos gave a small sigh. "I get freedom too."

Lifting a brow, Tharsis leaned back in his chair with a small smile. "You mean you get no supervision?" Eyeing the confused look on the young elf's face, the commander continued, his voice taking a surprisingly softer tone. "You're young; believe it or not, I was your age once. I know you want your space and privacy. But you don't deserve it yet, nor do you need it. And I know you hate me for that."

The words taking him by surprise, Deimos shockingly watched Tharsis push the chair out from under him and move towards the exit of the dining room. As much he tried to think otherwise, the sadness and disappointment couldn't be concealed from his father's voice; making the younger elf's mind reel. Only a day ago, he was being drowned in a freezing river by Tharsis, only to have his father displaying softer and kinder words to him. The change was confusing and baffling; but still refreshing. Hearing his father's steps echo through the parlor, Deimos stood up from his own place at the table. The change of attitude from his father was strange and curious, making the younger elf consistently wonder what had caused such a robust amend. However, he openly welcomed the change.

Pushing the silk in the doorway to the side, Deimos made his way through the parlor, his bare feet barely making a sound on the marbled floor. Faintly, he could see his father in the foyer; naturally assuming the older elf was going back to the mounds of reports waiting for him.

Sighing as he left the parlor to enter a vacant foyer, Deimos glanced towards the library; where he was granted with seeing his father's form moving towards his usual position. Scratching the nape of his neck nervously, the paladin reluctantly pushed the silks back to follow the commander. If Tharsis noticed his entrance, he didn't give any indication to it. Instead, he sat down at the desk, his eyes roaming the report in front of him; his facial expression void and blank. Lingering in the doorway, the young elf was unsure whether or not he should enter the area. The notion of leaving his father to brood seemed all to pleasing; but a small voice in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Gazing at the commander's vacant and distanced look in his eyes as he sat down at the desk, Deimos made up his troubled mind.

"_Ann'da_," the young elf began, his voice soft and hesitant, as he slowly entered the library, "I'm sorry."

Looking up at the apology, Tharsis watched his son sit on a white plush couch nestled beside the desk. The paladin's eyes were imploring and apologetic; his face painted with a concerned yet saddened look. Sighing, the commander looked back down at the piles of parchment on the desk. "There's nothing to apologize for."

Blinking at the older elf, Deimos flinched at the flat and emotionless voice. The elf that he saw only minutes before was gone; the cold and detached façade covering all emotions on his father's face. Shifting uncomfortably as silence enveloped the room, the young elf unsure what to say to Tharsis, he picked at a loose string at the bottom of his shirt. "I didn't mean to upset you." Pausing to take a deep sigh, the young elf responded under his breath. "I don't hate you."

Placing a report in his hands that he pretended to read back on the table, Tharsis turned his gaze to his son. Sitting on the couch, shoulders wilted forward in dismay, the boy kept his eyes down in an attempt to hide the troubled look on his face. Leaning back as he continued to examine him, Tharsis was slightly surprised at his words. "I recall before leaving Stormwind you saying quite the opposite."

Whipping his head up at the reply, Deimos squinted his eyes as he replayed the conversation; realization of the truth in his words dawning on him. Giving a small shake of his head, the young elf fidgeted nervously. "I was mad. Light, I _still_ am mad at you for forcing me to leave. Something like that, I probably won't get over for some time. But that doesn't mean I hate you. Will I go back to Stormwind when I'm an adult and can go where I want?" Pausing to gather his thoughts, Deimos gave a shrug. "Probably. Who knows though? It's eighty years away – all my friends in Stormwind will be long dead. If given the chance now, I would return in a heartbeat."

Picking up the quill resting on his desk to inspect it between his fingers, Tharsis gave a small smile. "So you would choose friends over family?"

The question taking him off guard, Deimos scrunched his brows in confusion, his head shaking in uncertainty; his emotions torn in multiple directions. "You never once during my life thought of me as family and now you expect me to?" Breaking to see a disturbed look darken his father's features, the young elf leaned forward towards the commander. "Look, I understand that raising an elfling on your own is probably difficult. Even if I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn't. I like how I was raised, ok? But I never asked for_ anything_ from you. I did everything you requested from me and more; I was holding a sword before most elflings could walk, I learned to read from intel and reports, I trained thirty hours straight. Light, I would die trying to impress you then and still today. But the _one_ time I ask for something, you can't do it? Aren't I entitled to something?"

Lifting his eyes from the quill in his hands, Tharsis placed the writing utensil slowly on the desk with gentleness. Running a hand over his tired face, the commander narrowed his eyes at his son's entreating gaze. "Deimos, I pushed you hard your whole life to give you a better future. You're already one of the best in my company at age twenty; at least a hundred years junior than your fellow soldiers. Imagine where you'll be at fifty? Light, you can even have your own battalion by your hundredth birthday. I'm sure having 'friends' in Stormwind is very enticing but it's not going to last. You said it yourself; they'll be dead before you even reach adulthood. Creating attachments will only hurt when they die and you live on."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Pursing his lips in anger at the quiet and small question from the younger elf, Tharsis broke their eye contact to glance down at the parchment. The conversation had somehow turned a direction he loathed. "I'm speaking from experience; an experience that's still taking me twenty years to get over." Pausing to look up at Deimos, the commander was taken back to see a surprised look on his face. "Like I said before, you're young; I know going out with friends to taverns sounds like fun, but it's irresponsible. You want to throw away all the work and training we've done to get you where you are. And for what? A couple drinks with meaningless people?" Examining Deimos' tilted down head, his eyes on the floor in thought, Tharsis gave a deep sigh. "And just because I forbid you to _live_ in the human city doesn't mean you can't visit or have your acquaintances come here."

His head snapping up to meet Tharsis' even and still face, Deimos gave a small grin; the words from the older elf taking him by utmost shock and surprise. "Really? I can go visit Stormwind?"

Leaning forward on his arms, the commander cocked his head to the side in amusement and slight annoyance at the excited look on his son's face. The paladin was far too easily swayed with the prospect of companionship. "For a short leave of absence, say three to five days, I see no problems with it." Pausing to watch the grin on the younger elf's face progress to a smile, Tharsis was sure to keep his tone firm. "But don't think you can run off there every month. As your commanding officer, you'll still have to submit a request of nonattendance to me; which I'll consider. Possibly once a year to visit should suffice your begging's."

Overjoyed at his father's words, Deimos nodded at every word. His mind was reeling; he assumed he wouldn't be setting foot in the human city for another eighty years. While a five day visit wasn't substantial, it was a step in the right direction. Perhaps with more finessing and work, he could somehow get his father to submit to his leaving to Stormwind for a longer period, or possibly a permanent setting. "Yes, that's fine. Thank you."

Nodding, Tharsis had to quickly turn his eyes downcast from the younger elf. Deimos' bright smile held joy and elation from the commander's words. Seeing the happy expression created mixed feelings in the commander's chest; contentment that he was able to accommodate his son and sadness at the reminder of his departed wife. His brilliant smile reaching his green eyes was nearly identical to his mothers, tearing a piece of Tharsis' heart out. A day never went by that he didn't think of her; his son only making his mourning and grievance all the harder.

Sensing the abrupt change in demeanor from the older elf, Deimos stood from the couch to gingerly approach the desk, straightening out his night pants in the process. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Quick to hide the saddened emotions from the forthcoming paladin, Tharsis lifted an amused brow with a smirk. "Oh, so now that I gave in to you, you're more than happy to offer help? You're a spoiled elfling."

Rolling his eyes at the comment, Deimos eyed the stacks of parchment littering the entire surface of the desk. Though it seemed alarmingly disorganized to the young elf, his father was more than apt at locating reports and intel under the mounds of paper. "I'm not an elfling."

"But you are spoiled?"

"Do you want help or not?"

Looking around the desk, Tharsis eyed the piles of reports; silently debating what he wanted his son's opinion on. The reports regarding the abductions in the city would remain untouched by the younger elf, but there were more than enough other stacks to send his way. Picking up a thick mass of papers, Tharsis offered it to the waiting paladin. "Here. Read this and get back to me. I want to know what your take on it is."

Accepting the stack with interest, Deimos brought his brows together in perplexity at the sheer size of the intel. "What's it on?"

"A scouting report from Icecrown. I've gotten through half of it so keep it in order. I want a full summary on the reconnaissance; this was an important mission. I'd like the report by the end of next week."

Nodding at the severity in his voice, the paladin glanced down at the heavy pile in his hands. An investigative report from the glaciered lands that housed the Lich King demanded full attention and concentration; the daunting task making Deimos feel proud. Such an imperative and vital assignment was an immense amount of responsibility. "I can start on it tonight."

Glancing at the clock, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. "It's getting late; start on it tomorrow. It's nearly after eight."

Rolling his eyes at the words while giving a small laugh, the young elf moved towards the doorway of the library, the substantial report resting in his grasps. "Are you still enforcing that ridiculous 'bed time'? You know I'm no longer ten, right?"

Raising a brow at the boy, the commander continued to keep his eyes roaming the pages in front of him. "If I didn't, you wouldn't get out of bed till noon."

"Remember that 'freedom' I get in Stormwind? Maybe we should try applying it here."

"You'd get the same treatment if you lived in the barracks."

Sighing at the lack of progress he was making, Deimos knew he wouldn't get through to his father on the issue. The curfew had been instilled since the young elf could remember; the time he was required to be in bed slightly increasing over the years. While it didn't particularly bother him, after tasting the feeling of choosing his own curfew in Stormwind, getting back into the routine of the enforced rule was trying. Smiling at himself as he left the library, Deimos was at ease knowing his father had given him permission to visit the human city. While he didn't dare try for more privileges regarding Stormwind just yet, the young elf had hope that Tharsis would be swayed regarding a more permanent move.

* * *

Glancing at himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, Deimos pulled the scratching Ebonweave shirt from his neck. The stiff material, while made of the utmost quality, irritated and annoyed the newly washed skin. Sighing in defeat, the young elf sadly accepted his fate of discomfort for the night; the shirt wasn't budging on the matter.

Opening a drawer from the vanity, Deimos retrieved a vial of thick wax from the back. Not usually taking much care to fashion his hair on a daily basis, the elf reserved the styling paste for occasions that required the increase in image. Glancing back in the mirror at his damp blonde hair, the paladin hesitantly ran a hand through it; debating the best approach. While his hair naturally held a spiky style, the use of the pomade would enhance the appearance. Sighing, Deimos gingerly twisted open the small jar of wax; the smell of Golden Sansam filling the small space.

The evening was dying, the darkened night conquering the blue sky with victory. The streets of the Sin'dorei capital were barren and deserted, save for the occasional arcane guardian or patrol. The Onth'Talah celebration called the citizens into their homes in preparation for the parties and galas that were sure to be in full-swing in a mere few hours; the Ares'mar dwelling no different. While Deimos was excused from the day of practice to help out around the house for the upcoming party, the young elf was less than thrilled. He detested the monotonous and droning parties; having grown up attending the events throughout his life. Hearing movement below him, Deimos heaved a deep sigh. He would remain in his bedroom as long as possible; postponing the imminent and pending tedious night.

Running his hands full of wax through his hair, the young elf turned his head to the side at the sound of a presence entering his bedroom. Lifting a brow as his father pushed back the silks to enter the adjoining bathroom, the young elf gave a dramatic sigh, trying to ignore the stern look on the older elf's face. "Thanks for the privacy. What if I was naked?"

Pausing to run his eyes up and down his son in an examining manner, taking in the slightly wrinkled shirt to the gelled hair, Tharsis pursed his lips in annoyance at the boy. "It's nothing I haven't seen. What's taking you so long? Half the guests are here already, Deimos."

"Sorry, I didn't even notice the time pass. I doubt they notice I'm not there anyways." Turning his gaze back to the mirror as he continued to work his hands swiftly through his cropped hair, Deimos generously added more wax. Turning his head to the sides in an effort to glance at the back, he resorted to relying on touch to insure its appearance was satisfactory. Running his hands through the locks slowly made it dry, the dampness leaving the blonde strands. "I'm almost done."

The words not offering any consolation to him, Tharsis shifted impatiently and angered from one foot the other; his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It took all his self-reserve to not yank the insolent boy from the small space. "You should have been ready hours ago."

Sighing at his father's incensed tone, Deimos hastily grabbed a small pile of jewelry resting on the vanity; satisfied with his hair. While he knew his father's words held truth, the young elf couldn't bring himself to particularly care. Quickly shoving thick Khorium rings on his right thumb and left middle finger, he spared a glance at the commander glaring at him. "Look, I'm sorry. I got caught up reading that report and lost track of time."

Watching his son pull the heirloom necklace around his neck, his fingers expertly working the clasp, Tharsis deepened his scowl at the paladin. "That's no excuse, Deimos. Don't think I'm dense and have no idea why you prolonged getting ready."

Moving to the last piece of jewelry to finish the ensemble, Deimos leaned against the sink and turned to the right to get a better view of his left ear. His fingers easily locating the hole only an inch below the delicate point, he brought the golden hoop up to it. Unsure how to respond to the angered elf, the paladin determined the best decision was to not reply; his father's annoyed glare boring into him. About to push the sharp back of the earring through his ear, Deimos jumped slightly when a firm and strong hand grasped his wrist, halting his movements to a standstill. Glancing to the side at the presence hovering over him, the young elf was surprised to find his father pulling his wrist down with a strong force.

"Leave the earring out. This is a gala, Deimos, not a gathering at some tavern."

Sighing in defeat, the young elf submissively gave in to his father's wish, placing the golden hoop on the vanity reluctantly. As much as he longed to debate the matter, the angered look on the commander's face and hard grasp on his wrist told him otherwise. Nodding obediently, the hand releasing him, Deimos gave himself one last look in the mirror before pulling the silks back to enter his bedroom, Tharsis following shortly behind him.

"I want you to mingle with the guests tonight, understand? Diplomatic training is just as important as physical conditioning, and dealing with the Magisters will require a vast amount of it. I want you to get comfortable with conversing with them in a discrete yet tactical way."

A silent sigh escaping his closed lips while he moved towards the doorway of his bedroom, Deimos gave a compliant nod of his head. The speech from his father was one he often received prior to an event that involved the fake and superficial council of magi. The thought of heeding the older elf's request sent shivers down his spine; he despised the forced conversations and scrutinizing eyes. The young elf was well aware of the hidden meanings behind all the words the Magisters said, the diplomatic dance disgusting him. Unfortunately, he lacked the esteem and confidence his father possessed when dealing with the magi; the older Ares'mar knew how to play their game. Pulling the silk back to enter the hallway, Deimos could only look forward to the prospect of the ending to the night; the notion of returning to his bedroom seemed more than delightful.

* * *

"Can I have bourbon?"

The bartender sighed as he looked over the young elf with examining eyes; a skeptical look on his face. "How old are you?"

Rolling his eyes, Deimos gave a dramatic and deep sigh. "Old enough." The doubtful look only increasing tenfold, the paladin decided to resort to his next tactic. "Look, I can use it." Pausing to glance around the parlor filled with elves, he turned back to the unamused bartender. "More like need it."

Sighing at the young elf in front of him, the bartender hesitantly placed a small glass filled with dark brown liquid on the granite bar counter. Smiling in thanks at the drink, Deimos happily accepted it. Prior to living in Stormwind, he found the booze to be disgusting and vile; his throat protesting madly from the burn. After spending countless nights with Matheus and Warren, however, his palette soon became more acclimated with the liquid. While he still preferred a fine wine over the hard alcohol, he knew the strong drink would help the night go by with more ease. Walking to the side of the bustling room, his drink in his hand, Deimos was quick to keep his gaze down in fear of making eye contact with someone.

The dinner had commenced and ended with no pomp; the meal was as boring and tedious as the mingling that followed. The lavish parlor was used for both the dinner and gala, decorated circular tables being taken out after the meal was finished to open the room up for cocktails and socializing. A quiet music resonated off the marbled floor and elevated ceiling, the fake laughs and forced conversations mixing to create a sound that made the young elf all the more annoyed. The sound wasn't unfamiliar to the paladin; he grew up being forced to endure the monotonous events.

Leaning against the wall as he eyed the numerous elves socializing, Deimos gingerly sipped the strong drink. The parlor was opulently decorated; thick silks swooped from the lavish chandelier to the carved walls. Servers dutifully walked around the elves, filled glasses on trays to replace the empty ones in the guests' hands. The whole spectacle was annoying and sickening to Deimos.

About to take another sip of the strong alcohol, a strong hand gripped his wrist while another pulled the glass from his grasp. Surprised at the action, Deimos turned his head to meet Tharsis' stern and harsh glare. As a server passed by them with a tray full of empty glasses, the older elf was quick to place the bourbon on it. "Not only is that a vile drink but you're also vastly under age." Pausing to send a firm look at his son, the commander nodded towards the crowd of elves. "Go socialize, Deimos."

Sighing at the words, the young elf crossed his arms over his chest; not the least bit pleased with his drink gone. "I did."

"Well, mingle more. There's still hours left of the party."

Sending one last hard look at the paladin, Tharsis joined the throng of guests; hoping his son would follow suit. Deimos, however, was less adamant to mix with the elves. While it was true that he attempted to socialize earlier in the night, the elf had only given enough time to promptly greet all the guests; not delving into conversation with them. The only guest he attempted to converse with was Brightwing; but it proved to be impossible. The ranger-general was being hailed left and right, other guests trying to speak with the elf with as much determination as Deimos. Giving up on trying to get more than two minutes with Brightwing, the paladin was quick to keep himself on the sides of the room; simply waiting for the night and party to end.

"You can't hide the entire evening."

Surprised at the voice, Deimos whipped his head to the side. Standing with a knowing grin on his face and a half filled glass of wine in his hand was Lor'themar. Slightly taken back by the older elf's comment, the paladin opened and closed his mouth while he attempted to search for the correct words; only making the amused look on the leader's face deepen. "I'm not hiding. Just…waiting."

Chuckling at the younger elf, Lor'themar sent a quick glance at the throng of elves. "I hate these things just as much as you do. I've perfected how to hide."

Raising surprised brows at the words, Deimos grinned at the leader. "You? But you're the Regent-Lord; how can you hate these events?"

Laughing at the words, Lor'themar placed a gentle hand on the young elf's shoulder, giving a kind push towards the crowd. "You forget that I was a ranger and paladin before taking my position." Pausing to glance at Deimos' reluctance to enter the intimidating mass of elves, the leader gave a small smirk. "But I also know the importance of socializing; as you should. Wars are fought on and off the battlefield, young one."

Nodding halfheartedly at the words, Deimos allowed himself to be led into the waiting crowd; a deep sigh escaping his lips. As much as he wanted to disregard and ignore Lor'themar's words, he knew he couldn't disrespect the older elf. Instead, he was damned to mix with the elves against his will.

Unsure where he was headed, the paladin followed the older elf's lead; his step having direction and purpose. Furiously glancing to the sides of him in an attempt to figure out where their destination was headed, the young elf gave a small shake of his head as he mentally prepared himself. Battles and physical training he would gladly take; diplomatic conversations seemed foreign and alien to the young elf. Turning his gaze forward, Deimos had to force his feet to continue moving across the marble as his eyes fell on the group of elves they sought. Standing in a semi-circle, drinks in hand, was Tharsis, the Grand Magister and his son, and Brightwing. Watching as a server passed him, Deimos blindly grabbed a small glass off his tray full of drinks. He didn't care what booze filled the glass but only hoped it was strong.

"There you are," Brightwing greeted Lor'themar, a wide smile on his face. "We were wondering where you disappeared off to."

"I had to use the restroom," Pausing to glance at the younger Ares'mar, who fidgeted on his feet nervously, Lor'themar gave a gesture to the paladin. "I ran into Deimos along the way."

The group's attention fell on the anxious young elf, much to his displeasure. Silently sending a death wish to Lor'themar, Deimos hesitantly sipped the drink out of his glass; hoping the booze would offer some sort of escape. The strange and peculiar liquid warmed his mouth as he swallowed; still unsure what the drink was. As the alcohol slid down his esophagus, the young elf felt like his throat was on fire; the sides constricting in protest to the vile taste. Eyes watering, the paladin couldn't stop the cough that forced itself out.

Chuckling while he took the glass out of Deimos' hand, who didn't put up a fight at the action, Brightwing gave the young elf an amused look. "Since when do you drink absinthe?"

Eyeing the coughing elf, the Grand Magister lifted a brow. "Since when do you drink?"

His choking subsiding, Deimos gave a small shake of his head at both questions. "I don't. At least not anymore."

Sparing a quick glance to see Tharsis' disapproving glare at his son, Brightwing smiled at the young elf while he offered his own glass to Deimos; who gratefully sipped the wine in an effort to quell the burning sensation enveloping his throat. Turning his attention back to the Grand Magister, who eyed the young paladin with dark interest, the ranger-general was quick to change the subject. "I hear Elik was accepted for an apprenticeship at the Academy of Arcane Sciences in Stormwind next spring. That's quite the accomplishment."

The words shocking him, Deimos coughed as he swallowed the fine wine; the elves immediately turning their heads at the interruption. Giving a sheepish and apologetic smile, the young elf turned his attention to the liquid resting in the goblet. The notion of Elik living amongst the humans was entertaining, yet at the same time distressing. For his rival and foe to be allowed to live in the city the paladin longed to reside in was upsetting and displeasing.

"Elik was honored to receive Maginor Dumas as a teacher. He's notorious for his book on the socio-contextual effects of magic and how it impacts the world," the Grand Magister paused in his gloating, sending a proud look down at his son, who kept the pompous look on his face. "It's nice to see all his hard work pay off. I foresee a Magister title in his future."

Giving a forced smile at the conceited magi, Lor'themar glanced at Tharsis to see a similar reaction from the commander. "Speaking of hard work; Tharsis, how is young Deimos' training going? I was fortunate enough to see him practicing the other day. His swordsmanship is quite impressive."

Nodding in thanks to the leader, Tharsis glanced at his son standing dutifully by his side; his voice coming out calm and level. Though he didn't look at Rommath, the commander knew the Grand Magister was fuming from the attention being taken off his own son. "His training is advancing quite well. I have to admit that I was impressed with the progress he made in Stormwind."

"Well, I would be most interested in spending some of my own time training with him; from one paladin to another."

While the words regarding him were kind and praising, Deimos couldn't help but shift nervously on his feet. The older elves spoke of him as if he weren't there; but he didn't dare voice his discomfort. It would be considered rude and disrespectful for him to interrupt their discussion, especially if it pertained to him. Glancing to Elik's annoyed face, Deimos sent a small smirk his way. The young magi, similar to his father's disliking, loathed the change in direction the conversation took. Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin found no comfort in hearing the flattering comments directed at him. He was raised to never expect them from his father and to not react if another admired his style; it was unbecoming. However, he couldn't stop the small smile that spread on his face at the recognition from the Regent-Lord.

Glancing around himself, the ranger-general gave a small chuckle. "I have a feeling the palace will be deserted tomorrow morning. It seems many of the residents are more than enjoying the pleasures of drink. I know I am."

Laughing at Brightwing's words, Lor'themar took a sip of his own wine. "I have no qualms with that. It seems we don't get enough nights of entertainment these days."

"Why do we celebrate today?"

The laughing coming to a standstill at the quiet and abrupt question, the group of elves turned their bewildered looks at Deimos; his odd question taking them off guard. Swirling the small amount of wine remaining in the golden goblet, the young elf kept his gaze focused on the spinning red liquid. Though he felt the numerous eyes boring holes into him, his stare remained transfixed on the alcohol; though his thoughts were elsewhere.

A cynical chuckle pulled the paladin from his reverie. Picking up his head to inspect the source, Deimos was greeted with seeing Rommath's mocking look. "Tharsis, I thought you said you educated the boy?"

Not giving his father time to respond, Deimos sent a heated gaze at the Grand Magister; the older elf returning the stare in equal intensity. "I guess what I'm asking is, why do we commemorate the day with celebrations? I _know_ what happened on today. Prince Kael'thas returned from Dalaran and renamed us Sin'dorei. But, why do we celebrate nearly our entire race being wiped out and murdered with festivities?"

"Hope," Lor'themar responded lightly, placing a heavy hand on the young elf's shoulder. "You're young; you were born a blood elf, so I'm sure it's difficult for you to understand. But those of us who…witnessed that day have a different understanding of it."

Throwing his head back to down the absinthe in the glass he took from Deimos, Brightwing clasped Lor'themar on the shoulder with a laugh. "And that's why you're Regent-Lord; you're able to inspire the youths of our people."

Chuckling at his long time friend, the leader gave a small shake of his head; the seriousness leaving his voice. "And you, my friend, are forbidden to return to the bar."

Laughing at his words while glancing at the obviously intoxicated ranger-general, Deimos drank the remainder of the wine in his own glass. Glancing around the parlor at the roomful of elves socializing and taking part in fake chat, the young elf couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face. While the conversations were forced and superficial, they did all revolve around one event that brought their race together; an incident that defined their people in their hardest of times. Though he was born as a blood elf, Deimos understood the still fresh memories many of the older elves shared from the Third War. He grew up reading the reports and intel from the war; the atrocious and horrid slaughter that took place in the city shocking him to his core. The deepened hatred the Sin'dorei held for the Lich King and Scourge was rightfully so; their families and city torn apart by them. Though he didn't see the Third War first hand like the older generation, Deimos still carried the same feelings as those who did. Glancing around himself again at the elves, he felt a swell of an emotion he rarely felt in Stormwind; belonging.

* * *

Placing his toothbrush back in its proper place in the drawer to the vanity, Deimos glanced at himself in the mirror. His blonde hair still damp from the shower he stepped out of minutes earlier, his fair skinned glowed with renewed essence. The dark circles under his green eyes, however, were ever present as they contrasted with his naturally flaxen face. Running a hand through the wax free hair, the young elf was satisfied at the softness and usual feel to it. Donning a white shirt and red night pants, the paladin was more than prepared to surrender to the exhaustion that plagued his mind.

The party had ended less than an hour ago, Deimos quickly retreating to his bedroom to prepare for bed. The night had grown late; the time well after midnight. Waiting for the last of the guests to leave, the paladin had grown restless and tired. Brightwing's intoxicated and drunken stupor had kept the young elf entertained for the greater part of the evening; until Lor'themar convinced the ranger-general to return to the palace before he passed out in the parlor. After the two departed, the gala had grown all the more monotonous for him. Tharsis, having picked up on the tiredness and fatigue in his son was quick to stay by his side to ensure he didn't sneak off before the last guests left. With the supervision hovering over him, Deimos was forced to mingle and socialize with remaining officers and Magisters; though he mostly stayed quiet beside his father. The commander seemed forgiving for the silence, not forcing the young elf to openly engage but rather listen and answer when spoken too.

Sighing as he pulled the silks back, his fatigued body looking forward to the sleep his bed would offer, Deimos kept his head down in weariness as he entered his bedroom. He'd managed to sneak away after the last of the guests departed the dwelling without his father seeing him, unsure if the older elf would want to employ his help with cleaning up the parlor. Not hearing any movement beneath him, Deimos assumed the hired elves had completed the job with ease.

"You look exhausted."

Stopping as he approached the rounded bed, the plush Frostweave blanket and fluffed pillows enticing him to throw himself at them, Deimos turned his tired eyes towards the doorway. Tharsis stood at the entrance of the room, adorned in similar nightwear with his arms hanging limply at his sides. Eyeing the tired circles under his son's eyes, the commander knew the boy would be ready for a deep sleep. After Brightwing and Lor'themar departed, no longer giving the paladin a means of amusement, Deimos had seemed to crash. His energy level was close to depleted, the older elf instantly picking up on the lethargic and tired movements from him. Knowing full well that the young elf would attempt to sneak away or hide for the remainder of the night, Tharsis was quick to keep him compliantly at his side. Occasionally sending unspoken glances of reassurance to his son, Deimos had been unaware of the silent gestures.

Sighing as he ran a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed, Deimos freely yawned; not even attempting to stifle the signal of his fatigue. "I feel exhausted."

Moving into the room while he roamed his eyes around the area, Tharsis gave a small nod. "I'll let you sleep in tomorrow. We'll start practice later in the day. Just try to be out of bed before the afternoon."

Nodding at his father's words gratefully, the young elf pulled himself to the middle of his bed in preparation for sleep, ruthlessly pulling the thick comforter from its neatly made position. The pillow-top mattress seduced his fatigued and tired body to give in to the sleep that threatened to envelope his being; the extra presence in the room deterring the action.

Watching the paladin pull himself under the blue coverlet, the older elf cocked his head to the side as he examined his son. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

Slightly deflated that his father didn't take the hint that he longed for sleep, Deimos propped himself up on his elbows to regard the older elf's question with a roll of his eyes; his voice carrying more irritation and annoyance than he intended. "No. I never do."

Lifting a brow at the bold and brazen response, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest in thought. The young elf immediately recognized his attitude in the words, sending his eyes downcast in obedience and submission. "I know it's difficult for you understand why these events are important for you but you should really take them more seriously."

Nodding tamely at his father's words, Deimos was surprised at the gentleness and calmness in his voice. Swallowing hard, the paladin glanced up at him with tired eyes. "I know, and I try. I just can't take part in diplomatic conversations." Pausing to bring his brows together in confusion and thought, Deimos cocked his head to the side. "You're pretty good with them. How did you learn?"

A small smile going across his face at the question, Tharsis sat at the edge of the bed. Deimos instinctively moved over to retain a large gap between each other; a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the older elf. "With time and practice. I have years of experience with the Magisters and holding conversations in a tactful manner. With your own practice, you'll learn how to socialize in these settings better." Inspecting the younger elf's small nod, his eyes blinking in an effort to clear the fatigue from them, Tharsis gave a small smile. "And if I'm going to be relying on you as one of my lieutenants, you're going to have to learn their diplomatic dance."

Widening his eyes in surprise at the words, Deimos pushed himself up to a sitting position, his gaze roaming over his father's face for any evidence of deceit. "Lieutenant? I'm not... there's other soldiers that deserve the promotion before me."

Smirking at the modesty and humility in the younger elf's voice, Tharsis gave a shake of his head. "You've really impressed me with your training in the past couple weeks, Deimos. You have the respect of your fellow soldiers; who are at least a century your senior. You're one of the finest in the company in strategic and tactical planning." Pausing to see excitement pass over his son's face at his words, the commander was quick to turn his voice firm. "Now, I'm not saying you're being promoted just yet. But I'm currently considering it. I value your opinion, Deimos, on and off the battlefield. You would make a fine lieutenant."

The compliments taking him by complete and utter surprise, the young elf was unsure how to respond or act to the warm manner from his father. Such praise and commandment was rare from the commander, the proud look in his father's eye an emotion he always sought for his entire life though seldom saw. "I-I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Eyeing his son's tired face, Tharsis gave a small nod at the boy. Pushing himself off the bed to approach the doorway, the commander turned back to the yawning paladin. "It's getting late." Pausing to give a sweeping hand gesture in the open air next to his face, Tharsis kept his gaze on Deimos as the arcane lights diminished. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Smirking, Deimos allowed his body to fall back on the feathered pillows with a comforted sigh. "Or later."

Pulling back the silks as he began to depart the room, Tharsis scowled at the younger elf's comment, a small shake of his head in response. "No sleeping past noon though. I'll drag you out of bed."

Rolling over to place his back to the commander, Deimos grinned as he pulled the Frostweave blanket up to his shoulders. "Deal. Good night."

Sighing as he eyed the blonde mass of hair on the purple pillows, Tharsis felt a strange pang of emotions fill his being. Strangely, he was reminded of his departed wife; her laugh and smile echoing through his mind. As much as he wanted to try to ignore her in an attempt to finish grieving over her death, he simply couldn't. Glancing around the darkened room one last time before entering the hallway, Tharsis was reminded back to when the couple chose the house to reside in. Their original home destroyed when the Scourge invaded, Tavia insisted that they design a house that would be able to hold a large family. She was adamant on having elflings, claiming her arms were meant to hold them, and the home would need to be built to suffice. Having a deep love and admiration for her, Tharsis had hired the best and most experienced architects and builders to design a home to her liking.

Pushing the silks to his bedroom to the side, Tharsis was surprised to find the usual saddened emotions that typically accompanied her memory filled with happiness and rejoice. He remembered her pulling him aside from his drills with his battalion to tell him the wonderful news; she was carrying an elfling. At first, he was shocked and nervous; the thought of caring for an infant seemed overly daunting to the commander. But the stunned emotions eventually faded to immense bliss and joy. Seeking the finest healer in all of Azeroth, Tharsis hired a respectable druid to care for his wife during her pregnancy.

Pulling the blanket back to get into the bed, Tharsis gave a small sigh. As much as he wished himself to stop the thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder what life would be like if the Light had allowed Tavia to survive childbirth. Would there be other elflings running around the house, or would Deimos have been enough of a hassle for the couple? His son would probably have grown up in the conventional manner in a proper age group, enrolled in the academy until he was of age to choose a direction for his life. He wouldn't be the strong and fierce soldier that he currently was; though he most likely wouldn't look at his father in fear and alarm. What their relationship would be like was a mystery; as much of the rest of the imaginary lifestyle.

Extinguishing the arcane lights with a wave of his hand and pulling his hair free of the tie back, Tharsis laid his head on the pillow with a sigh. As much as he willed and wished the fantasy to be real, it wasn't. His wife had passed away during childbirth; the druid being forced to place most of his resources in ensuring the survival of his son. As much as he wanted to speculate on what his and Deimos' connection would be like if Tavia lived, it was pointless. He had created a harsh and dominating relationship with his son; his only tie to his departed wife. While he couldn't undo the twenty years of damage he did to the boy, Tharsis would try to improve their bond in the years to come. Though he would never achieve the imagined relationship he thought he'd have with his son when he initially heard of his wife carrying a boy, Tharsis was determined to begin righting his wrongs; Deimos coming first.

* * *

Rolling over restlessly, the young elf hugged the silk covered pillow closer to his body in an effort to lull himself back to sleep. Pulling the thick blanket tighter around his shoulders, Deimos couldn't seem to quell the chills and shivers that raked his body. Lifting his knees closer to his chest in an effort to retain some body heat, he was curious as to the abrupt change in climate. While the night was chilly when he initially went to bed, it was nothing compared to the bitter cold that swept around him. Rolling over on his back, his green eyes slowly opening, Deimos glanced around the room.

The area was as dark as it was silent; the only sound of crickets chirping through the night resonating through his room. Propping himself up on his elbows, he was sure to keep the Frostweave blanket up to his chest as his tired eyes glanced at the clock resting on the nightstand beside his bed. Sighing at the numbers that stared back at him in a mocking manner, _0315_, the young elf turned his attention back to the room. Cocking his head to the side curiously and intriguingly, Deimos sat up straighter as he eyed the window.

The silks that hung over the window billowed freely from the harsh wind that whipped through the room, enclosing the space with a bitter coldness. Narrowing his eyes at the opened window, Deimos tiredly wondered what had caused the enchantment to wear off. While the windows were generously opened, covered only with silks from the outside world, enchantments were placed on the panes to secure the harsh weather from entering the dwelling. While occasionally the enchantments would need to be replaced, the young elf was slightly perplexed as to the reasoning behind his window losing its charm. Though exhaustion and fatigue muddled his thoughts, he recalled an enchanter recasting the spells on the house only a year prior.

Pushing the blanket back and forcing himself out of the warm bed, Deimos reluctantly stood on tired legs. Wrapping his arms around his chest while he approached the window that allowed the cruel night into his room, his couldn't stop the chills running up and down his body. Dismissing them as side effects from the bitter cold, Deimos continued to slowly make his way across the room, his bare feet padding across cold marbled floor. Strangely, he felt his back muscles tense and go tight; his ears perking up with a heightened sense. Shaking his head at the odd behavior, the paladin reached the window. Sure enough, the enchantment was gone; the wind whipping around his form only reaffirming his conclusive findings. While he was no enchanter, Deimos was proficient enough to place temporary charms on various objects, an action he figured he'd have to do for the night. Sighing while he slowly focused his mana and energy on the open window, the young elf placed his full concentration on the enchantment. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, the charming took twice as long as it should have; his tired state impeding the process. Feeling his energy drain itself from his already exhausted body, Deimos gave a content sigh as he felt the chilling wind desist. The enchant was complete. He would have to bring up the odd disturbance to his father when the morning came. Running a hand over his tired face, Deimos was about to turn away from the window when a strange image caught his eye. Cocking his head to the side in confusion, the paladin pushed the silks out of the way to gain a better view of the outside world. Leaning forward slightly, the young elf narrowed his eyesight in curiosity. A cold fear swept over his body as his keen elven eyes made out the peculiar object.

Standing in the street right in front of the Ares'mar house was a figure; arms crossed over his chest. Staring straight at him, Deimos was easily able to see the dark smirk that danced across his features and a pair of daggers resting on each side of his hips. Taking in the gray and rotting skin on the figures face, the young elf felt his breath hitch in his throat and the blood from his face drain. The Undead standing in the street seemed to pick up on the realization from the paladin, his sneer deepening. Unsure what to make of the odd figure staring at him, Deimos felt his senses heighten; an alarm in his head sounding. Startled and anxious, he began to turn from the window with the intent of informing his father of the strange Undead outside. Had his mind and muscles not been overwhelmed with fatigue, he would've heard the looming presence saunter up behind him earlier.

Before he could react, Deimos felt a steel arm wrap itself around his midsection while a soaked cloth was pushed against his face. Kicking and thrashing against the firm grasp, the paladin whipped his head to the side in an effort to free his breathing of the metallic smelling fabric. The captor, his strong arm pulling the young elf against his warm body to still his fighting, was unyielding to the thrashes. His mind reeling, Deimos began to feel his thoughts numbing and going frozen; whatever liquid was doused on the cloth was beginning to take its effect. Placing his remaining energy into a deep concentration, the paladin focused his mana into an attack; his last stand against the foe behind him.

His vigor depleting as a bolt of holy energy slammed into the body, Deimos felt the arms release him. Though the attack was weak, the figure only staggering backwards slightly dazed, it offered the young elf sufficient time to escape his clutches. Unfortunately, the concentrated poison had taken its toll on his body. His vision beginning to darken, he forced his feet to move towards the doorway; his limbs beginning to disregard his commands sent to them. The silks that hung in the darkened doorway looked a hundred miles away, the thought of escape seemed nearly infeasible.

Resorting to a new tactic, Deimos opened his mouth to shout for help from his father. Immediately, a thick hand slammed over his mouth, replacing the wet cloth against his face, and a muscular arm returning to his midsection with a strong yank back. As much as he wished his limbs to protest to the movement, Deimos found his arms and legs wouldn't comply. The poison in his system had taken effect, making his extremities numb and paralyzed.

Glancing up, a cold fear filling his body at the situation, the young elf was somehow able to will his head to gaze over his shoulder at his captor. A serious and grave looking face stared back at him; the paladin was taken aback by the human holding his limp body. Standing silent and still for several beats, his mind slowly shutting down from the poison, Deimos sent one last prayer to the Light as blackness overtook his body.

* * *

Eyes closed, Tharsis expertly pinpointed the location of the figure looming in his bedroom with his elven hearing. Having woken up from his senses alarming him nearly a minute earlier, he could only imagine how the individual had managed to break into his home and the reason for the intrusion. His trained arm placed under his pillow, hand gripping the sharpened dagger that rested there, the commander was sure to not allude to his conscious state. Instead, he kept his respiration deep and even, his body not stirring as the figure moved closer to him.

Silently, Tharsis felt his chest swell in worry and concern for his son's safety. While he knew Deimos was more than apt at defending himself, he couldn't stop the anxious and nervous feelings that enveloped his mind. His senses were still sending distressed and alarmed signals to his body; his mind unsure for the cause. While he initially thought it was the presence of the intruder in his bedroom, the commander was surprised after acknowledging the figure the alarms didn't suppress. Instead, they only increased in intensity; putting the commander at unease.

His hearing strained to pick up on even the quietest of movements, Tharsis felt his heart plummet into his stomach at a nearly silent noise that resonated down the hall; a strangled moan. While the sound would be impossible for an individual that lacked the acute senses to hear, the elf was all too much aware what the sound was. Gripping the dagger tighter in his grasp, he sprung from the bed with amazing speed and precision. The human intruder was standing close to the bed, making Tharsis' attack all the easier. Slamming the burly yet surprised human against the wall with a strong forearm, the commander was quick to bring up the sharpened dagger. In a quick sweeping motion, he sliced the delicate and vulnerable throat open; taking a step back to watch the thick red liquid flow freely from the wound. The human, choking on his blood, futilely brought his hands up to his throat in an effort to slow his impending death. Not bothering to watch the life leave the intruders eyes, Tharsis wiped the liquid off the handle of the dagger on his night pants; readjusting his grip on the weapon while he turned his attention to the sound of movement emitting from the hall.

Moving with agility and dexterity, Tharsis stalked towards the doorway to his bedroom; careful to keep his actions silent. Heavy breathing and panting filled his ears from a source moving down the hallway, loud footsteps also accompanying the noise. The steps were significantly heavier than his son's lithe elfish weight; the clumsy and lumbering movement also giving evidence that it wasn't Deimos. Clutching his small weapon harder as the sound drew closer, Tharsis dared a quick glance through the thick silks that hung in the doorway; what he saw made his blood boil.

A large human, nearly the size of Tharsis, easily carried a limp and unconscious Deimos with far too much ease. With the young elf's prone body slumped over his shoulder, the intruder didn't take any notice to the extra presence in the hall that watched him under angered and scrutinizing eyes. While a human the size of Deimos would prove to be problematic when carrying, his light elven weight made the action effortless.

Moving with astounding speed, the commander charged the intruder; the sharpened dagger at the ready. The human, taken off guard by the assault, wasn't quick enough to react to the attack. Feebly lifting his free hand up in an effort to defend himself against the older elf, the man was at a loss. Tharsis, taking in the astonished and surprised look that crossed the human's face, capitalized on his momentary advantage. Not allowing his attention to be diverted as Deimos' unconscious body fell to the ground with a loud thud, the commander gripped the man's neck.

Propelling the intruder against the wall with angered strength, he didn't waste a second to end the battle. Gritting his teeth in fury at the situation, Tharsis brought his armed hand up to finish the human; the man weakly fighting against the fierce grip that held him in place. With amazing speed and strength, a sharp blade was slammed into the center of the human's chest; his eyes going wide in shock and pain. Allowing a small smirk to dance across his features at the gurgling noises emitted from the man's mouth, Tharsis thrust the dagger down; reveling in the feeling of the blade severing the ribs and organs. The commander pulled the weapon from his chest, releasing the intruders neck as he watched the blood flow freely from both his mouth and crude slice in his chest.

Not bothering to look at the human's lifeless body slide down the wall, Tharsis immediately turned around to the unmoving elf behind him. Sure to keep his weapon ready in his trained hand, the older elf anxiously knelt next to his son; who was lying on his side where he landed. Gently pushing Deimos on his back to inspect him, the young elf's prone body compliantly rolling over, Tharsis took in his features. His breath came in short and shallow gasps, his pale skin clammy to the touch. His eyes roaming the paladin's figure for any further injuries, the commander was relieved to find his body unhurt. Running a hand over his tired face, Tharsis silently sent a thankful prayer to the Light for his son's visually unharmed body; though he couldn't stop the concerned feelings for the unknown.


	8. Chapter 8

Leaning his head back against the carved black and red wall, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. Though he was trained to withstand and survive the harshest and most dire situations, he lacked the virtue of patience. He was able to fight against the Burning Legion and clash swords with the Scourge in Northrend, but a simple act of waiting seemed impossible and unattainable; at least in his current situation. When the prospect of patience was applied to combat or battle, the commander was more than able to extend his tolerance. However, when it pertained to aspects of his personal life, the characteristic seemed to flee his body and mind; the annoyance and anger at waiting being ever present.

Unable to rouse his son, Tharsis had carried the young elf to the Sunfury Spire; the location of the priests and healing ward. The hour was late when he arrived at the palace, nearly half after three o'clock in the morning, though the priests were more than prepared for the emergency. Methodically taking Deimos from the commander's arms, the healers immediately ushered the unconscious elf into a private room; the last time Tharsis saw his son. Closing his eyes in irritation, it'd been nearly an hour since he brought the paladin in and still received no word, either good or bad from the healers. While the occasional priest would open the thick and solid silks that hung in the doorway to come and go, the older elf wasn't addressed or spoken too. However much he tried, he was unable to hear any noises in the small room; the strong silencing enchant around the doorway impeding the idea.

Sighing heavily while closing his eyes, Tharsis detested the healing wing in the palace. While he was more than familiar with the inside of the rooms, having ended up under the care of the priests multiple times, he despised the feeling of waiting. Unfortunately, he'd been in the situation before; the outcome heartbreaking and distressing. It was nearly twenty-one years ago that the commander sat on a similar carved wooden bench, his wits at end while he waited for information regarding his family member. However, his emotions then were different: they were a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and worry. Waiting for his wife to deliver his unborn son and unable to stand by her side during the difficult trial, Tharsis reluctantly waited in the hall. The ending to the story was a sad one; the druid emerging from the private room with a distraught and saddened look on his face.

"Tharsis! I got here as soon as I heard. I pray Deimos is unharmed."

His eyes snapping open at the new voice, the commander silently berated himself for allowing his memories to dominate his senses. Glancing in the direction of the sound, Tharsis' tired yet expressionless eyes met Lor'themar's worried and troubled ones. The Regent-Lord was adorned in similar attire to that of the older Ares'mar; wearing loose fitting night pants and a simple shirt. His long blonde hair cascaded freely down his back, the distinct lack of his usual half pulled back style giving evidence to the fast response time.

Standing up respectfully to address his superior, the commander gave a small nod in reverence; Lor'themar hastily returning the gesturing. "I haven't heard anything from the priests yet but he looked uninjured. He was unconscious when I found him."

Giving a hand motion to the intricately carved wooden bench in the dim lit hallway, Lor'themar spared a quick glance at Tharsis while they sat. The commander and Regent-Lord, having fought beside each other since before the Scourge attack on the city years ago and knowing one another growing up, always had a deep respect and honor of each other's combat style and fervor. Lor'themar admired Tharsis' enthusiasm on the battlefield; his ruthless and thorough reputation earning him his rank. The older Ares'mar respected the Regent-Lords zeal and passion to lead the torn Sin'dorei into a more prosperous future. One aspect of Tharsis' life, however, that Lor'themar found himself drawn to was his son; a feature that Brightwing took a particular liking in as well. Though he rarely got to see the boy, the leader enjoyed the company of the young elf, his fresh and eager attitude pleasing to Lor'themar. Watching Deimos grow and progress as both a paladin and elf since his birth, the leader felt a small attachment to him.

"What happened exactly? The guardians told me your house was broken in to."

Sighing heavily, Tharsis gave a tired shrug of his shoulders. "I'm not even sure. The attack must have been premeditated though; there was a human waiting in my bedroom for me."

His eyes roaming over the commander, Lor'themar was slightly taken back by the emotions filling his eyes. The usual angered and tough façade struggled to stay strong on Tharsis' face; worrisome and concern threatening to overtake his expression. "I took the liberty of having an investigation started immediately." Pausing to take in a gulp of air, the leader's voice took on a more serious tone. "Though we're still looking into it, the two bodies we found in your house both had trade coalition emblems."

Snapping his head up at the response, Tharsis narrowed his eyes at the other elf. "The slave traders? How would they know where to find Deimos?"

Running a hand over the nape of his neck, Lor'themar gave a small shake of his head. "Beyond me. But like you said, it must have been premeditated; they most likely stalked him for a couple days."

Pursing his lips in anger, Tharsis welcomed the angered feelings that quelled the worried and concerned ones. Strangely, he felt a swell of possessive and overprotective emotions sweep over his body at the thought of his son being watched and examined, ending with his attempted capture. "Were there any witnesses around the house that saw the humans enter?"

Smirking at the comment, Lor'themar shook his head with a cynical grin. "Everyone's either intoxicated or still celebrating. They picked a good night to attack." Breaking to glance around the empty and desolate corridor, the Regent-Lord offered the other elf a quiet chuckle. "If you didn't kill the intruders we could have possibly gotten answers to this problem."

"That wasn't really on my mind at the moment, sorry."

Lifting a brow up at the sarcastic and harsh remark, Lor'themar gave the commander a small grin; surprised by his reaction. "I understand."

"Commander Ares'mar?"

Whipping his head around, Tharsis met the gaze of Priest Aldrae leaning in the hallway with questioning eyes. His short and messy blonde hair contrasted sharply with his neat and tidy clothes, his face expressionless and unreadable. Having ended up in the healing ward on numerous occasions, Tharsis had become accustomed to the priests that resided in the quarter. While he was older than the commander, Aldrae had somehow preserved his humor and wit despite the hardship and suffering he saw during the Third War; a personality that would typically irritate Tharsis to no end. However, the commander held strong respect and honor for the priest. Though he had a jesting personality, the healer seldom allowed it to impede on his work; he took great pride in his occupation.

Standing up from the bench, Lor'themar mirroring the action, Tharsis raised a puzzled brow. "Yes?"

Scratching his disheveled hair, the priest darted his eyes between the two elves in front of him. "Do you want to speak in private on behalf of your son?"

Glancing at Lor'themar standing beside him, his expression passive, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. The commander was fully aware of the relationship the Regent-Lord held with his son; a similar bond that Brightwing had. Though Deimos didn't spend as close to as much time with Lor'themar that he did with the ranger-general, the leader's eyes still softened when looking at him. "It's not needed. What happened to my son?"

Nodding firmly in response, Aldrae glanced down at a piece of parchment clutched between his fingers. "Whoever attacked Deimos inhibited him by administering a high and potent dose of a volatile agent; an anesthetic." Pausing to wait for any interruptions, the priest was thankful for the silence that followed. "I've consulted Camberon, an alchemist, to narrow down the type used. Based on his symptoms, it was most likely an inhaled agent with a muscle relaxant."

Shaking his head in impatience, Tharsis narrowed his eyes in irritation. "So is he fine?"

Having dealt with the commander on more occasions than he cared to admit, the priest knew how to effectively communicate with him; straight to the point. "We're not sure what the minimum alveolar concentration was in the anesthetic so we can't precisely determine any adverse effects. I'm administering intravenous therapy to flush his blood of the drugs. But until his system is clean, we can't establish if there's any toxicity. I'm going to keep him over night to monitor for Bradycardia and Myocardial depression; though based on his sympathovagal balance now, it seems unlikely he'll develop the disorders. He hasn't shown any symptoms for anaphylaxis so it's safe to say he's in the clear." Breaking to take in the blank and void looks on the two elves gazing back at him, Aldrae gave a warm smile. "Your son's fine, but I want to continue to watch his vitals until tomorrow."

Nodding at the lengthy response, Tharsis stared futilely into the private room; the thick silks obstructing his vision. "Is he awake?"

"He's not fully coherent but he is conscious."

"I want to see him."

Heaving a silent sigh, Aldrae was prepared for such a demand from the commander, knowing the order left no room for dispute. While his patient was indeed awake, his state required rest and respite for a full recovery; the idea of allowing Tharsis to impede disheartening. However, he knew the older Ares'mar wouldn't accept nor heed any further suggestions or proposals; his mind was set.

"You go ahead, Tharsis," Lor'themar began, watching the priest pull back the solid fabric that hung in the doorway to allow passage. "I'm going to check on the investigation. I'll be back in the morning to discuss it with you."

Nodding in both answer and thanks to the leader, Tharsis turned his gaze towards the small room, the priest standing by the door frame while holding the silks back. Stepping into an equally dim lit area, the commander's senses were assaulted with the smells of disinfectant and sterilization elixirs. The small space was windowless with sconces hanging on the walls emitting an icy arcane glow to the room that shined on the red tiled floor. On one side of the room was a long black counter, littered with medical instruments and parchment. Resting on the opposite wall was a square bed; the inhabitant the object of the commander's attention.

Stepping further into the room, Tharsis gazed at the young elf lying in the center of the bed with examining eyes. A crimson blanket pulled up to his hips, Deimos lay unmoving on his back; his eyes closed as if in a slumber. Slowly approaching the side of the bed, Tharsis took in his flaxen color before turning his attention to his son's right arm that rested slightly to the side of his body. Lying palm up, his limb had a small needle inserted at his elbow, two small pieces of tape holding a syringe in place. His eyes following the thin tubing running from the syringe to a clear fluid-filled glass jar hanging beside the bed, Tharsis watched a drop of liquid fall into the drip chamber at the base of the container. Turning his eyes back down at the young elf, the commander was surprised to see unfocused and half-opened eyes gazing back at him. Crossing his arms over his chest while he continued to examine his son, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "How do you feel?"

The question, though it seemed small and diminutive to the older elf, took Deimos great concentration and deliberation when considering an answer. His half-lidded eyes blinking several times to an attempt to focus on his father's face next to him, the paladin gave a small shrug. "Tired. Kind of in pain."

Ignoring the slurred tone, Tharsis lifted a brow at the reply, turning his head towards the priest to send a questioning look at him; his voice coming out harsh and demanding. "You said he was fine; why is he in discomfort?"

Glancing down at the chart resting in his hands, Aldrae disregarded the impatient and hard tone from the commander. "Muscle ache is a common side effect from the anesthetic and relaxants. It'll dissipate in a day or so."

Nodding in acceptance of the response, Tharsis glanced back down at Deimos; who continued to struggle to grasp onto consciousness. "Do you remember anything that happened?"

Brows together in concentration, the young elf willed his thoughts and memories to cooperate with the request. His mind was fuzzy and muddled, reluctantly complying with his demands to replay the night. Swallowing hard, Deimos glanced up at his father's waiting and expressionless face, putting great effort into focusing on the older elf. "I…I…not really. Remember an Undead, and that's all."

Squinting his eyes in thought at his son's words, Tharsis felt agitation and discomfort swell in his chest; he didn't see any Undead in or around the dwelling. While it was a possibility that Deimos' recollection was compromised from his incoherent state, the chance of missing a slaver in his home only increased his unease tenfold. "An Undead? Was it in the house?"

Closing his eyes in an attempt to gather his jumbled thoughts, Deimos knew it was in vain. Already fighting to stay awake, his body simply wouldn't cooperate with another demand. "Don't remember. Sorry."

Eyeing the young elf's fatigued face, Tharsis concealed his annoyance and frustration at him with a blank look. While he understood that the boy wouldn't be at his most coherent state, he still clung onto hope that his mind would be fresh with the memory. Unfortunately, it seemed the opposite. Sighing at the situation, the commander knew he would be forced to wait to gain better information from the paladin. Allowing his harsh stare to soften as Deimos opened his tired eyes to meet his gaze, Tharsis uncrossed his arms. "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."

Shifting slightly in the bed as much as his hindered arm would allow, Deimos narrowed his weary eyes at the older elf; clearly ignoring the order. "What...happened?"

Pursing his lips in dissatisfaction at the question, Tharsis gave a deep sigh. "Like I said, I'll talk with you after you've rested. You're most likely not going to remember this come tomorrow anyways."

Watching the younger elf's eyes close, Tharsis turned his attention to the priest scribbling on the chart clutched in his hand. "When can he be released?"

Taking a moment to ponder the question with haste, Aldrae darted his eyes over the parchment in front of him. "Probably around noon. The majority of the drugs should be flushed out of his system by that time; though I highly suggest holding off on physical exercise for a couple days."

Nodding in agreement, the commander moved towards the doorway. The adrenaline and excitement from the night was quickly wearing off, his body beginning to feel the fatigue and exhaustion in his movements. However, he knew sleep wouldn't come easy for him at the house; the memories of the intruders to fresh in his mind.

"Thank…you."

The quiet and slurred words causing his movements to halt, Tharsis turned towards the voice behind him. Meeting Deimos' fatigued gaze, the commander raised a questioning brow. "For what?"

The question seemed to throw the paladin off guard, his already muddled stare attempting to decipher the inquiry. Giving a small shake of his head, Deimos offered his father a wavering grin. "Saving me."

His eyes roaming his son's face, Tharsis was gave a firm and brisk nod of his head in response. "Get some rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

Not bothering to look back to see if Deimos complied with his order, the commander hastily departed the small room; the situation putting him in more unease. While he was annoyed and frustrated at the position Deimos placed himself in, he couldn't quell the feelings of relief and reprieve at his son's safety. Though he planned on exchanging words with the paladin regarding the matter, the situation could have ended grimmer. There were many unanswered what-if scenarios; what if Tharsis didn't get to Deimos in time, would he have ended up a sold slave? What if the anesthetics were more potent than intended? Would the boy have slipped into a coma, or worse, death? Shaking his head, the commander ran a hand through his hair. Pondering such notions were pointless and inane; his son was well and healthy, a small miracle the Light or someone watching out had granted him.

* * *

"_I went to the Bazaar today and ran into Phobos. He seems quite excited for his new promotion." _

"_Yeah, that he is." There was a pause. "I don't want you going to the Bazaar alone in your condition." _

_Laughing jovially at her husband's stern tone, Tavia smacked a fair hand into his firm chest. Resting beside Lake Elrendar, the married couple sat against a broad redwood. Though Quel'Thalas was enveloped in a bitter winter, the wife was adamant on spending time in the outdoors. Laying a protective hand on her swollen belly covered with warm fabrics, the female elf smiled warmly while looking down at the unborn infant. "And what condition am I in, my love? I'm not an invalid." _

_Sighing deeply, Tharsis hesitantly rested his own hand on the large bulge. "The druid said your due date is around this time, Tavia. I don't want you putting too much strain on yourself or the elfling. You'll need your strength." _

_Rolling her eyes at the firm voice, she gingerly picked at the frozen blades of grass littering the ground around her. The tranquility and serenity the lake offered drew her to it, Tharsis reluctantly allowing her to venture into the wintered environment only after donning layers of clothing. "We're fine. Amerdar says both me and Deimos are as healthy as can be." _

_Lifting a brow, the commander gave her a quizzical look. "So, are we in agreement then? 'Deimos', is it?" _

_Turning her loving gaze to her husband, Tavia offered him a warming smile while rubbing her belly. "It just seems right. I talked with Phobos about him as well; he says the name is fitting." _

"_Oh, well if my nephew finds the name acceptable, by all means." _

_Playfully hitting the commander at his sarcastic remark, she shook her head with amusement. Abruptly, her face lost all remnants of its mirth to be replaced with a serious expression while she placed both hands on her tummy. Immediately, Tharsis was at her side, his concerned and worried eyes darting between her face and the unborn elfling. "Tavia! What's wrong? Is it time?" _

_Smiling at his anxious and fretful voice, the wife slowly shook her head, her hands beginning to massage her abdomen. "Relax, my love. It was only a kick. He's been very restless lately." _

"_Maybe we should return to the city and talk with Amerdar. It's quite cold out; perhaps the temperature has-"_

_Placing a finger on her husband's lips to shush him, Tavia smiled with amusement. "Amerdar knows already. He says it's probably because I'm so close to my due date; nothing's unusual about it." _

_While he relaxed considerably, Tharsis skeptically and hesitantly moved back to his position beside his wife. "It's still hard to believe so much time has passed. It feels like it was only the other day you told me you were carrying an elfling; now it's nearly time for him to be born." _

"_This time in a week, we'll probably be holding him." _

_The comment shocking him to his soul, the commander turned his gaze at his unborn son in deep thought. "I'll finally be able to meet him; put a face to the name." _

_Smiling at the longing and loving look in her husband's gaze, Tavia caressed his fair cheek, smirking at the stubbles of hair that tickled her hand. "You'll be a wonderful _Ann'da_. He's blessed to have such a caring father." _(**dad**)_. _

"_Yeah, until he reaches that annoying age when he hates us both." _

_Biting her lower lip in thought at the jesting comment, the wife glanced down at her belly in contemplation. "I'm sure even then he'll still love us." Pausing to send a mirth-filled gaze towards her husband, she gave him a gaiety smile. "And will you love him any less even at that stage of his life?" _

_His voice losing any evidence of mirth or tease, Tharsis turned solemn eyes to meet his wife's tranquil ones. Rubbing a hand over his unborn son, the commander brought the other to stroke Tavia's fair and soft cheek. "Just as I promised you on our wedding day, I will always care for and protect our son."_

Snapping his head up from his slumber, Tharsis glanced around his surroundings wide eyed; slightly taken back from the vividness the dream possessed. His eyes roaming the familiar library, he ran a hand over his tired and strained face; the memory making his mind run. Sitting at the desk covered with its usual stacks of reports and intel, the commander had given up on sleep when it refused to come to him after he returned home. Reading through the mounds of parchment, his mind anywhere but on the accounts he was trying to comprehend, Tharsis succumbed to the fatigue that plagued his body. Noticing the sunlight enveloped the room from the elevated and high windows, the elf spared a glance at the small clock resting on the edge of the desk. Surprised at the ending morning, Tharsis stood on shaky legs.

With noon fast approaching, the elf had little time to shower and dress in preparation to get Deimos from the Sunfury Spire. While he felt a small pang of annoyance in his chest at not being present for when his son would awaken with coherence to answer questions, he felt stronger, more predominant emotions overwhelming the irritation; shame and remorse. The memory from nearly twenty one years ago stirred up feelings and thoughts that he fought so hard to destroy and forget. Pushing the silks open in the library doorway and turning to ascend the ramp to the second floor, the commander clearly remembered the memory that filled his dream. Only a day before his wife's death and Deimos' birth, it was the last full day he spent with her. While the memory carried sadness and grief, it also harbored pleasure and bliss. He easily recalled the eager and happy feelings he felt then, of holding his elfling in his arms, his beautiful wife sitting closely beside him. However, life wasn't as kind to him.

Reaching his bedroom, Tharsis pulled back the silks to enter his chambers with bitter feelings. A day that should have been celebrated and joyous was instead overpowered with distress and anger; the news of his wife's death drowning all other thoughts and emotions. He remembered with ease how he told Amerdar, the druid who attempted to save his wife's life, to send the elfling to the Shattrath orphanage. He had no inclination or desire to lay his eyes on his son, his wife's death to near to consider caring for their elfling together. It was Brightwing, who sat beside him throughout the ordeal, who convinced him otherwise.

Stepping into the ornately decorated bathroom, Tharsis sighed while he ran a hand over his face in dismay; he had broken the vow to his wife. Always staying distant and cold to the boy while raising him, he rarely exchanged words of care or love with him. Instead, he brought Deimos up as a soldier, treating him as though he were in his battalion. The paladin was officially conscribed into the military at the age of nine; though his swordsmanship was on par with elves a hundred years older. While he looked at Deimos in a different light than the others in his company, Tharsis knew the boy didn't receive the lifestyle his wife longed for him to have. Deprived of the kindness and love he ought to get from his parent, Deimos clung and begged for any acceptance and approval the commander would sparingly offer him. While he was deadly and proficient on the battlefield, the young elf lacked the needed attachment and bond with a parent, causing his psyche to be compromised and devastated.

Leaning against the porcelain basin in deep thought, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. The protection he failed to give his son extended far beyond emotional but also physical distraught. He pushed Deimos into battle at a young age and continued throughout his life. He couldn't count the numerous days after a bloody battle he didn't seek out the boy's safety; keeping his mind busy with other duties while his son painfully lay in a healer's tent. The paladin's current position was more damning evidence in his inability to follow through with the promise to his departed wife to protect their elfling. Glancing at himself in the large mirror that hung on the wall, Tharsis, for the first time in his life, felt guilt, anger, and disgust at himself. He had ruined the one aspect of his life that Tavia left in his care, her dying gift to her husband. The boy detested and despised him; the fault falling on him. He deprived the boy of any attachments and relationships, claiming them useless; a notion he assumed after losing his wife and the grief becoming difficult. Swallowing hard, Tharsis was set and determined to salvage the bond with Deimos. While he lost his wife, he refused to lose the promises and vows he made to her.

* * *

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling from the elevated piece of furniture, Deimos allowed a small sigh to pass through his lips. While his thoughts were no longer clouded and fuzzy, his body carried a dull ache that offered him more annoyance than pain. His limbs were lethargic and protestant to move where he commanded them to; a stiff feeling in his muscles frustrating him. Though his mind was clearer, his memories still seemed jumbled and confused. While he could recall the assault from the midst of the night, he had a vague recollection of his father's face. The freshest and clearest memory was waking up in the healing ward, his arm connected to a syringe and Priest Aldrae checking his heart rate. Though he still sat with the needle stuck in his limb, the arm resting protectively close to the hanging glass container, Deimos felt slightly more alert and awake. His fingers hesitantly probing the foreign object stuck in his skin, the paladin found the whole notion of the equipment odd. Usually unconscious when such utensils were used on him, he rarely got to witness the equipment in action.

"Don't touch that."

Snapping his head up at the familiar voice, Deimos' surprised eyes met Tharsis' calm and passive ones. Eyeing his father push the silks back to enter the room further, the young elf grudgingly complied with his demand; his hand falling limply to the side.

Examining his son under a firm gaze, taking in his disheveled hair and pajamas he still wore from the night prior, the commander was satisfied to find the boy alert. Content that he was healthy, Tharsis turned to the priest leaning over a piece of parchment on the counter opposite to the bed. "Aldrae, is he able to be released?"

Lifting his head up at being addressed, the priest gingerly approached the sitting elf with a warm smile. "His vitals are well. How do you feel, Deimos?"

Nodding at the question while the priest probed his fingers around the paladin's neck, expertly applying pressure to his digits on the young elf's lymph nodes. Trying to remain still and compliant at the examining hands, Deimos gave a small swallow. "I feel fine."

Moving his probing hands to the elf's bicep, the priest felt a small smirk dance across his face; he knew he should've expected such an answer from his young patient. While Deimos was a more compliant and easier patient, he possessed the same disregard for his wellbeing as Tharsis did; inheriting more traits from his father than strictly appearance. Digging his trained fingers into the muscle, Aldrae kept his gaze watching the paladin's facial expression, not the least bit surprised at the small wince that crossed his features. "Feel any discomfort?"

"A little."

Nodding, Aldrae spared a quick glance at Tharsis, his impatient stance and annoyed eyes boring into the priest. Chuckling quietly at the solemn expression yet concerned eyes, the older elf turned to the counter to retrieve a small wad of gauze. "You're going to feel some muscle pains probably for a day." Moving over to his young patient, the priest hastily glimpsed at the commander. "Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids for the next twenty-four hours; it's important to flush out whatever may be lingering in his system."

Pausing as he peeled the two small pieces of tape off the paladin's skin, Aldrae expertly gripped the base of the syringe with one hand while applying pressure to the skin where the needle rested under. Taking in Deimos' tensed posture, the priest sent him a reassuring smile. Slowly pulling back on the syringe, the needle coming cleanly out of the elf's arm, Aldrae was quick to firmly place the gauze on the area. Focusing on the bleeding incision for a moment, the priest removed the cloth to inspect the newly healed skin.

Disposing of the syringe and needle accordingly, the priest turned his eyes back at the commander; who stood waiting with growing impatience "No drills or physical exercise for a couple days. Don't be surprised if he sleeps the rest of the day either."

Taking the comment as an indication that he was free to leave, Deimos pushed himself off the bed; his bare feet making contact on the cold tile with a soft thud. Though the impact from the landing caused his leg muscles to send small aches up his body, he was sure to keep his face impassive and blank; fully aware of the scrutinizing gaze from his father. Nodding in thanks to the priest who dully watched him move across the room, Deimos raised a questioning brow to the waiting commander as he shifted nervously from the stare.

"Do you want to talk here or at home?"

Offering a thick cloak that was rolled up under an arm to the boy, Tharsis allowed his eyes to continue to examine the shorter elf; taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and slumped posture. "At home."

Nodding as he pulled the piece of clothing around his broad frame, the paladin hastily clasped the front of the cloak together. Darting his eyes to see if he father had brought any other provisions for him, he was rewarded with seeing the commander's empty hands. Not allowing disappointment at the thought of having to walk bare foot through the district show on his face, Deimos gave a small swallow. Looking expectantly at Tharsis, he was taken back by the overtly investigative and exploratory gaze that roamed his body; making his discomfort increase. The thought of receiving the lecture that was sure to come was enough to make him anxious, but the strange look put him on edge. Cocking his head to the side in confusion, the young elf was surprised at the bizarre and foreign emotions that consumed his father's eyes. "_Ann'da_, is something wrong?"

The question seemed to break him from his reverie, Deimos surprised when his father gave a brisk shake of his head and hastily left the small room. Blinking in shock at the peculiar reaction, the young elf was unsure how to respond accordingly. The glint in his father's eye was foreign and strange; the young elf fully expecting to see anger and fury. The lack of the usual emotions made him nervous, unsure how to react to the odd behavior from the older elf. Sighing to himself, Deimos quickly left the small room to catch up with Tharsis; damning himself to finding out the reason for the manners.

* * *

"Go to your room. I'll be up to talk with you in a moment."

The quiet and solemn voice taking him by surprise, Deimos halted his movements, the wool cloak hanging limply in one hand. Standing in the majestic foyer to their home, the young elf felt his mind beginning to reel at all the possible hidden meanings behind the words. If he was on the receiving end of a long-winded lecture, his father usually pulled him into the library; his fierce and loud yells booming off the elevated ceiling while the young elf kept his head dutifully down. A faster reprimand and talk would commence in the foyer, short yet harsh words being exchanged. Though the time was significantly less than the lecture in the library, the words said were usually cruel and brutal; causing more damage than the shouts of anger and occasionally accompanied with physical contact. The last, and particularly worse scenario was being lectured outside or on the training grounds. Watching his father adorn his weapon, the paladin knew the severe outcome to such retribution. However, being ordered to his room was a unique and new occurrence; his thoughts unsure how to react.

His feet plastered to the floor, Deimos watched his father turn towards the kitchen. "We can talk in the library."

Glancing over his shoulder at the young elf, Tharsis gave a firm shake of his head. "No."

The unyielding and hard voice not leaving any room for argument or other thoughts, Deimos reluctantly moved towards the ramp as the commander entered the kitchen. Reaching the second floor, the young elf felt his apprehension at being cornered in the small room increase with unease. Though he was sure his father wouldn't necessarily kill him, or even punish him severely for the events that happened in the dead of the night, he couldn't quell the nervousness at the unknown. The unfamiliar and strange look in his father's eye back at the palace made his fretfulness amplify. Hearing movement below him, Deimos increased his pace; he'd have to prepare for the discussion.

Reaching his room in a brisk walk, the paladin first visited his bathroom to refresh himself. Feeling slightly more comfortable at his empty bladder, the young elf quickly reached the side of his bed; searching for the object that he knew was there. Kneeling beside the bed, he gently lifted the mattress to retrieve the small dagger he kept concealed. Brows together at the empty space that mocked him, Deimos hoisted the mattress up further in an effort to frantically search for the weapon. While he could rely on one of the many swords that hung on the wall, he wouldn't be able to discretely arm himself. Keeping the sharpened dagger under the mattress for years, the intruders must have removed it prior to attacking him. Growling in aggravation at the missing weapon, the paladin slammed a fist on the marbled floor.

"Perhaps you should have kept this under your pillow; like I trained you to."

Dropping the mattress back to the bed in surprise, Deimos turned to the voice. Leaning against the doorframe, Tharsis lifted the small dagger; a firm look on his face, yet a small sadness in his eyes. His other hand held a glass full of water. His cheeks flushing a deep scarlet, the young elf gave a deep sigh while he stood to his feet. "Can I have it back?"

Regarding his son in front of him for a second, Tharsis moved to the edge of the bed. Carelessly lifting the mound of pillows, he placed the shined dagger at the bottom, replacing the plush pillows to rest on top of it. Sending his son a pointed look, the commander approached the desk to place the glass on top of it. "Remember to drink a lot of water today." Pausing to take in the nervous stance his son assumed, Tharsis felt a pang of guilt swell in his chest. He knew Deimos was panicked and frightful from the years of harsh punishments and treatment he received from him. Motioning to the bed, the commander leaned against the desk while crossing his arms. "Get into bed. I want you to rest while I talk with you."

Not moving for several beats, the order throwing him off guard, Deimos reluctantly complied. Ripping back the made bed, he hesitantly pulled the Frostweave blanket up to his hips. Refusing to allow his posture to relax and dismiss his defenses, the paladin propped himself up on his elbows while he waited. Having received more lectures than he cared to admit, he knew they ended all the faster if he remained quiet throughout them. The young elf had an idea where the talk would be headed; discussing his failure as a soldier and disappointment as a son, his inability to protect and defend himself, and of course, the 'needed' increase in drills to help perfect and correct his errors.

Satisfied when his son was lying in bed, Tharsis narrowed his eyes at him in frustration, a finger pointed at him. "Had you kept that dagger under your pillow you may have been able to fight that human off." Pausing as Deimos only offered a small nod in response, his face blank and compliantly tilted forwarded, the commander heaved a deep sigh and ran a hand over his face. However much he willed it to remain, the strong façade was quickly fading. Shaking his head, his voice came out in a quiet manner, laced with concern. "You have no idea how dangerously close you came to being taken."

Lifting his gaze at the distressed tone, Deimos turned his head to the side in curiosity at his father's peculiar behavior. "I know. I'm sorry."

Taking a step forward, Tharsis hardened his gaze at the boy, his jaw clenched in rage. "No, Deimos, you don't. What if I didn't get to you in time? What if the person in my room actually put up a fight and the human took you before I could stop him? Where would you be now, Deimos?"

The older elf's voice escalating in pitch, the young Sin'dorei dutifully gave a small shake of his head. While the yelling was customary, the concerned and worried tone was not. "I-I don't know."

Pursing his lips in anger, the commander gave a furious shake of his head. "Who knows where you'd be, really. Sold for hard labor; likely. A sex slave; maybe. But you should have easily identified that human before he attacked you."

Ignoring the last comment, Deimos had great difficulty wrapping his mind around his father's words. Opening and closing his mouth in utter shock and astonishment, the paladin couldn't seem to find the right words to say. "Slave? What are you talking about?"

Hardening his stare at his son's blatant ignorance, Tharsis gave a frustrated sigh. "The humans were identified from the trade coalition. I can only imagine where you'd be now had I not intercepted." Pausing to take in the stun and horror that spread on the paladin's face, he was quick to continue his speech, his voice not wavering in intensity. "But as I said, you should have been able to know that human was in your room long before he attacked you. Had your senses not warned you?"

Blinking several times at the question, Deimos willed his mind to comprehend the new-found information. However much he tried, he couldn't quite understand his father's words to him; the dreadful events increasing in horror. "Trade coalition? I thought they were taking elves from Murder Row?"

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other in annoyance, Tharsis set his jaw. While the shocking news to the boy was to be expected, it was sincerely impeding on his lecture. "They must've been watching you. But you're missing the point, Deimos." Narrowing his eyes at the boy with an intense stare, the commander took notice of the younger elf's torso tense under the gaze. "Did your senses not give you any forewarning for the attack?"

Averting his eyes for a second to consider the older elf's words, Deimos gave a sheepish shrug. "I'm not really sure. I was so tired that I think I just brushed off any weird feelings." Noticing his father scowl deeper at the response, the young elf was quick to continue. "But I'm not all that good with recognizing my… intuitions, I guess. I had something similar happen in Stormwind when I got stabbed."

"You were stabbed?"

Tilting his head away from the grimacing and unforgiving stare, Deimos missed the concerned and disturbed emotions pass over his father's face. "Yeah but I was fine; Warren got me to the priest in time for him to resurrect me."

Eyes roaming his son's downcast face, Tharsis failed to detect any evidence of humor or jesting in the boy's words; his anxiety only escalating. Shaking his head incredulously and in disbelief, his couldn't conceal the harsh and cynical tone in his language. "And pray tell, what _else_ happened in Stormwind?"

Shrugging calmly in an attempt to make light of the situation, Deimos silently replayed all that did take place in the human city; saving the heir, blacking out in a drunken stupor, fighting beside the humans against the Horde, and shamefully drinking demon blood. "Nothing important. So, the slavers found me?"

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Tharsis was determined to rip the information from his son one way or another eventually. However, the boy was right in attempting to bring the conversation back around to the original topic; delving into the specifics of what occurred at Stormwind would have to wait. "It would appear so. If they're keeping an eye on you, I don't want you walking around Silvermoon without someone with you."

Unable to stop himself, the young elf felt a frustrated sigh pass through his lips. Whatever small freedoms and liberty he retained were being ripped away; the notion of more suffocating rules agitating him all the more. "If I'm not safe here, why don't I just stay in Stormwind? I'm sure Warren would be more than glad to-"

"You really think I'd allow you back there after you just told me you were stabbed, and only Light knows what else?"

Quick to cover a yawn with the back of his hand, Deimos felt his weight beginning to become overbearing for his elbows to support. "Fine. So you're going to watch me day and night?"

Cocking his head to the side in displeasure at the sarcastic and impatient manner from his son, Tharsis lifted a brow. "For one who was carried into the healing ward unconscious, I would expect a better attitude."

A shameful blush reaching his fair cheeks, the young elf sent his eyes down to the blue comforter on his bed. Brushing his fingertips along the cerulean trim, he felt an intense stare boring into him uncomfortably. "I-I'm appreciative for what you did. Hell, you're probably right; I don't even want to imagine where I'd be if it weren't for you." Pausing to choose his words delicately and with great care, Deimos swallowed hard while meeting his father's curious eyes. "But you can't expect me to rely on a babysitter for Light knows how long. I give you my word that I won't step foot in Murder Row, and it's not as if I stay out past my curfew. Other than time in the house, I spend most of my waking hours with you anyways. But please, I don't need to be escorted around the city like some child."

"And take a chance of repeating last night? No. I stand firm on this, Deimos. You can beg and complain all you wish, but I won't yield. You _will_ be in the presence of another at all times, you're restricted from Murder Row, you're not to train alone, and if you're practicing with the paladin trainer, I want you in this house no later than five o'clock."

Mouth slightly open in shock and annoyance, the young elf narrowed his gaze in anger. "I'm not an elfling! Yes, I screwed up last night; that was my fault and I'm willing to accept punishment for it. But you're being unfair and excessive, _Ann'da_. Had I been more awake and alert, I could have easily held my own against that human. Can we compromise? My curfew can be six o'clock and no constant supervision."

Growling in frustration and impatience, the commander shook his head. "I won't tolerate your juvenile behavior any longer. You _will_ abide by the rules I set forth." Pausing to take in the angered and contempt packed glare from the younger elf, Tharsis continued with a softer tone. "These policies aren't permanent, Deimos. I'm hoping this issue is dealt with in a month or so; then you're previous rules will go back into effect. But until then, I expect complete obedience from you. Understood?"

Shaking his head in an effort to clear his furious thoughts and emotions directed at his father, Deimos sent his eyes to the side in rage. "Fine."

Sighing at the brazen attitude, Tharsis took in the younger elf's face plagued with fatigue and anger; the latter most likely resulting from the first. Picking up the cold glass of water resting beside him, the commander carefully approached the bed; his eyes examining the paladin with scrutiny. He didn't expect the discussion to tide over well with his son; his natural tendency begging for more freedom instead of the loss of it. However, Tharsis also was aware of his paternal responsibilities and duties to the boy to protect him, however much it was detested by him. Taking note of his infuriated posture and lack of eye contact, the commander knew his son well enough to recognize when he was sulking. Reaching the side of the bed, Tharsis offered the water to the young elf. "Drink this. Aldrae said you need to stay hydrated. Then you're to rest for the remainder of the day."

Hesitantly accepting the waiting glass of water, Deimos spared a quick glance up at his father's face hovering to the side of him. Skeptical eyes meeting calm yet concerned ones, the young elf gave a small nod of his head before stealing a sip out of the glass. Though the angered and frustrated feelings at his father were still present in his being, the paladin found the older elf's finicky demeanor peculiar. "What about training?"

Watching the younger elf take a liberal gulp from the glass, Tharsis crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You're going to take a break from physical drills. Instead, we're going to focus on your mental strength. It's been some time since we devoted a whole day to meditation so tomorrow we'll do that. I want to take you through a couple different methods to teach you how to better use your senses; it's obvious that you don't appreciate your full potential."

Draining the cup, Deimos was taken back with surprise when the commander generously took the empty glass. Eyeing his father with slight doubt, the paladin watched the older elf under examining eyes while he moved towards the doorway. "I'm pretty good with my hearing."

"You're an elf; acute hearing is just a sliver of the privileged mental capability our race possesses."

Nodding distractedly at the words, Deimos felt his exhausted and tired body silently pleading with him for a reprise in the day. The soft bed and plush pillows were tempting him to give in to his fatigue as his father pulled back the silks to leave the room.

"_Ann'da_," the young elf began, Tharsis pausing in his departure to glance back at his son with quizzical eyes. "I think I said this last night, though I can't really remember if it was real or not. But, thank you for helping me last night. I know you probably think I'm weak and more a bother than anything, but for what it's worth, thanks."

Regarding his son's calm face for a moment, Tharsis was sure to keep his own features blank and passive; though he wasn't aware of his eyes giving away his eagerness at the young elf's words. "You're my son, Deimos. No matter how hard I push or demand of you, nothing will change that. What I saw last night was a parent's worst nightmare; you're just lucky that I have the training to react accordingly. Majority of the elves in the city wouldn't have such an advantage." Pausing to consider his words, not bothering to take in the bewildered expression in the paladin's eyes, Tharsis gave a strong sigh. "There's no need to thank me, either. What I did last night, I would willingly do today or twenty years from now."

Shocked at the uncharacteristic and unexpected moving words, Deimos opened his mouth to reply only to see his father briskly exit his room. Watching the fabric hanging loosely in the doorway sway back to its resting position, the young elf wasn't sure how to react. His worn and weary body begged him to give in to the sleep that threatened his consciousness while his conscience told him to speak his father. Located somewhere in the middle of the two sides was his rational mind; trying to create a compromise for the opposing teams. His father, he figured, would immediately close up upon initiating a conversation about his new manner and behavior demonstrated. The older elf would dismiss any notions of change or strange emotions; most likely reverting back to his cold and distant self. Though Deimos found the new attitude from the commander strange and foreign; it was a welcoming feeling. Having always dreamed of gaining his father's acceptance and love, it seemed the older elf was willingly offering small amounts of open kindness. Falling back on the mattress, his head resting lightly on the pillows, Deimos allowed his eyes to immediately close. Though he was still incensed and angry at the newly placed curfew and rules, he felt small oddities accompanying the feelings; happiness and security. Though the emotions openly conflicted with one another, the paladin annoyed at the restraints placed on his life, he was slightly relieved and elated at the prospect of his father directing so much attention at him. The newly instilled rules served as evidence that the commander retained some aspect of love and care for the boy; Deimos reveling in the emotions. Feeling consciousness slowly begin to ebb away from his body and mind, he felt content and happy where he was at; any thoughts of returning to Stormwind no longer on his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm very sorry for the late update and for this chapter being on the shorter end. Depending on my progress with writing, I may update again in the next couple days. Thanks! Enjoy! **

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"And this one is supple?"

"It's constructed of arcanite. There's hardly a metal on Azeroth that's more malleable yet substantial. It's heat treated over the course of several days and tempered for a soft back yet extremely strong edge. The blade will follow him through his training."

Nodding at Bemarrin, the middle aged blacksmith standing beside an anvil, Tharsis turned his attention to Deimos. Gripping the hilt of the long sword, the young paladin expertly inspected the dull gray blade, his fingertips vigilantly running down the length. Satisfied at the lack of dents or cavities, the smooth metal tickling his skin, he clutched the handle with both hands tightly. Testing the weight of the weapon, he was slightly surprised with the lightweight sword; his arms conditioned to bear majestic yet heavy blades. While he was somewhat thrilled and excited at the notion of getting a new weapon, Deimos was still annoyed at the events that transpired only hours prior. A week had passed since his attempted capture, the time mostly being taken up with mental drills and exercises. Though he enjoyed the change in routine, the paladin became restless and edgy; the lack of physical fitness making him impatient. Only commencing their usual drills a day ago, Deimos was elated to use his pent up energy; a vigor that carried over the following day. Slashing and thrusting his sword against his father with renewed force and drive, both Ares'mars were surprised and stunned when his blade snapped in two. Frustrated at the situation, the young elf missed his father's amused stare shortly after it happened.

Sparing a quick glance at the pieces of what used to be his sword resting on the anvil, Deimos gave a deep sigh. "It'll need to be enchanted."

Lifting a brow at the quiet voice, Tharsis easily detected the remnants of his son's lingering frustration. "Of course, Deimos. But is it to your liking?"

Sighing again while he eyed his beloved broken weapon once more, the paladin glanced down at the long sword in his grip. It was an imposing and intimidating weapon; constructed of finer materials and jewels than his old sword. However, the texture of the hilt felt foreign, the shape of the blade unfamiliar. Readjusting his grip, the young elf offered the watching commander a small nod. "It's a remarkably built sword. I'm surprised at how light it is." Pausing to meet Bemarrin's questioning yet intense gaze, he gave a small shake of his head. "You're sure there's no way you can repair my old blade?"

Breaking his stare from the young elf, the blacksmith gazed at the broken weapon resting on his anvil, the sunlight glimmering off its polished yet abused surface. "I'm sorry, Deimos. Because of the materials it was made out of it, I can't repair it. While I can reconstruct another, I highly suggest upgrading your weapon. It's apparent you're progressing too rapidly for that sword." Gesturing to the weapon in the paladin's hands, the blacksmith shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. "This here is a fine blade for you. You won't have to concern yourself with needing a new weapon soon; it'll suffice for years."

Sending his eyes back down to the impressive blade, Deimos nodded at the blacksmith's words while placing the sword on a rack. "You're right."

"Good," Tharsis replied impatiently, turning his attention from his still sulking son to the blacksmith. "How long will it take to forge?"

Eyes' squinting in thought while he eyed the blade, Bemarrin was silent for several beats. "I can have it ready by the end of next week. Will you need a replacement until then?"

Giving a small shake of his head, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. The feeling of receiving a newly built weapon was thrilling, yet he still couldn't hide his dissatisfaction of losing his old blade. "I've got a couple spares at home that'll work."

"Ok. I'll send word when the sword is finished."

The two Ares'mars politely thanked the blacksmith, Deimos sending one last glance at what remained of his sword, before turning to leave. Moving through Farstrider Square, the day slowly ending with the sun three quarters across the sky, Deimos felt empty and naked without the security and familiarity of the heavy weapon strapped to his back. Sending his hand to check the fasten that would hold the sword, he was disheartened to find the spot empty.

"You have enough swords at home that'll make due until your new weapon is made."

The two stopping near the street as they watched a group of four elves dressed in civilian clothing exchange unpleasant and loud words with each other, Deimos gave a small sigh at his father. Keeping his eyes trained on the angered group, whom were drawing attention from the passing citizens, he shook his head. "I know. And I know the new sword is a major upgrade from what I used to have. But I liked my old blade; I was used to it."

Cocking his head to the side while one of the elves' elevated his roaring voice, several words reached Tharsis' pointed ears causing him unease and discomfort. Though he could only pick up on small parts of the elf's speech, what he did hear made his body shift nervously. Glancing to the side at his son, the commander briefly considered fleeing the area; the impending fate for the arguing elves apparent. "We should go."

His words came a second belated; the apparition of two Magisters beside the quarrelling elves made his heart sink in his chest. A seasoned warrior and soldier, Tharsis had enough life experience to understand the authoritarian and controlling grasp the Magisters had on the citizens of Silvermoon. The arcane guardians were programmed to eliminate any and all speeches or inclinations of rebellion, with the use of whatever possible means. Though most of the cities inhabitants were oblivious and naïve to the lies and oppression of the government, those well traveled knew the truths. Hearing a nearly inaudible and brisk gasp beside him, Tharsis was quick to grasp Deimos' bicep roughly as the shorter elf took a step forward. Though his son had admirable intentions, he knew they would be in vain; the group of elves were a lost cause.

"Deimos," Tharsis began in a whisper, forcefully pulling the unyielding paladin back. "There's no helping them. You'd only be mind wiped as well."

Watching in dismay and revulsion as one of the Magisters began the invasive procedure on the four elves, Deimos pursed his lips in anger. Though he loved his city full-heartedly, he longed for the freedom and independence to exercise free speech and choice without the fear of being reprimanded. While he never had the process completed on himself, it was no secret that the whole ordeal was painful, humiliating, and intrusive. Sending his eyes to the side in rage and disgust as the four elves entered a dazed state, their eyes half lidded and their weight swaying on their feet, the young elf shook his head in discontent. "It's not right."

Opening his mouth to reply to the upset paladin, Tharsis was interrupted by two presences sauntering up beside him. Surprised at the two new elves, the commander was greeted with a wide and giddy smiling Rommath, his son bearing a similar expression on his sneering face. Sparing a quick glance at the group of elves that were reciting a line of speech predetermined by the Magister that completed the procedure, Tharsis turned his attention back to the Grand Magister with a respectful incline of his head. "What brings you to the military district?"

His smile growing in size at the gruff voice, the Grand Magister gave a tilt of his head at the dazed and bemused elves in the distance with a chuckle. "Allowing Elik to gain applicable experience. Though once he goes to Stormwind for his apprenticeship this summer, he won't be able to observe this aspect of being a Magister."

"No, in Stormwind they actually allow freedom of expression and individual thoughts."

Snapping his head towards the quiet yet furious voice, Tharsis nervously eyed Deimos' cold face; his angered and fierce gaze trained on the Grand Magister. Shocked and alarmed at the younger elf's outburst, the commander was at a loss of words for his son's behavior. By all means, the boy had given the Magister more than sufficient grounds to mind wipe him, though the procedure wasn't typically reserved for minor elves. Rather, the parents were held responsible and accountable for their offspring's lack of respect and mutinous attitudes. Glancing back at Rommath, Tharsis wasn't surprised to see his face riddled with anger and rage, accomanpied with a glint of dark curiosity that made his stomach flip.

"Deimos-"

Lifting a hand to shush the commander's words, Rommath took a threatening step towards the paladin, who continued to maintain his intense and unwavering stare. "Quiet, Ares'mar. I see your _son_ has spent far too much time in that human city. Perhaps a visit to the Sunfury Spire will change his mind from such radical thoughts. What do you think, Deimos?"

Narrowing his eyes at the older elf's attempt to hold an intimidating stare, the paladin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sparing a quick glance at his father, Deimos was rewarded with meeting nervous and anxious eyes boring into him. The gravity and seriousness of the situation slowly seeping into his being, he turned his eyes back to the Grand Magister waiting patiently for a response with a cynical smile.

Heaving a defeated sigh, Deimos sent his eyes down to the flagstone in an effort to conceal his frustration. "My apologies, Grand Magister. You're right; I've been away from Silvermoon for too long. It seems I've forgotten my place." Pausing to glance up at Rommath, who was watching him with a severe and scrutinizing gaze, Deimos didn't allow his intense stare to waver as a small smile spread across his face. "I'm sure Elik will be most impressed with the Royal Library in the Keep at Stormwind; it has a lot more literature than our collections here in the city. There was one author Commander Steele had me read; it really made me think: **'**Choice is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err. It passes my comprehension how human beings, be they ever so experienced and able, can delight in depriving other human beings of that precious right. '"

"Funny, the author is only referring to _humans_."

Ignoring Elik's laughing comment, the paladin continued to hold the forceful look with the Grand Magister, whose face slowly began to erupt in redness from resentment. Giving a small smirk, Deimos shifted his weight to his other foot. "I wanted to continue reading the author's work but it seems his pieces aren't in our libraries. Strange. Once the orbs are finished, I'll have to bring some of his books to the city."

Pushing a long ebony lock of hair behind his ear, Rommath glared down at the younger elf. "Don't test me, Ares'mar. Though Lor'themar and Brightwing have a soft spot for you, I'll lose no sleep at night after ordering your mind wipe, or worse. It'd be a pity to see one so young and eager reduced to nothing." Sparing a quick glimpse at Tharsis, who shifted nervously at his words, Rommath chuckled darkly at Deimos. "Consider yourself lucky that I'm in such high spirits today; I won't give you another warning, paladin."

Feeling a heavy hand rest on his shoulder, Deimos didn't have to turn to know Tharsis was relaying a silent plead to surrender. Though he was tempted to continue the defiance and rebellious manner towards the Magister, his father's touch swiftly quelled all notions of abiding the argument. Already skirting and flirting with a fine line of adversity, the young elf knew he was fortunate to walk away with his mind and thoughts still intact. He had voiced views and words the citizens of the city only dreamed of expressing. Nodding in shameful submission, Deimos allowed his head to obediently tilt downwards in a sign of yielding to the older elf. "I'm sorry, I was out of line. I'm still tired from the attack a week ago."

Narrowing his eyes at the poorly conjured excuse, Rommath chose to end the battle. His gaze roaming the compliant elf in front of him, he knew it wouldn't be the last time he'd be in the situation. Lacking the formal and structured education young elves underwent, Deimos was one to voice his concerns and opinions; usually forgetting the consequences. Never one to dance the diplomatic conversation tactics, Rommath usually sought out the young Ares'mar when in need of dire information pertaining to a report or aspect of a campaign that Tharsis was unyielding to divulge in. Though he acted valiant, bold, and intimidating, the Grand Magister knew the paladin's weaknesses; his dread of disappointing his father and fear of the invasive procedure.

"Rommath," Tharsis began, his nervousness at the situation slowly ebbing away with Deimos' retreat. "In lieu of… recent activity, I was hoping to discuss certain events with you. It seems we may need more of the Magisters support than previously thought."

Brows together in thought, the Grand Magister gave a brisk nod of his head. Turning his gaze towards his son waiting patiently at his side, Rommath gave a small head tilt. "Elik, why don't you take Deimos back with you to your study group? I think he's in need of some formal educating."

The question was resolute and unwavering; Elik nodding obediently while allowing a sneer to dance across his features at the small jab towards the paladin. Allowing a quick side glance to the right, the younger Rommath was rewarded with a dark and annoyed look from Deimos; only fueling the grin on his face.

Promptly ignoring the silent insult directed at him, Tharsis bottled up and tucked away the anger and annoyance with the Grand Magister; a practice he was all too familiar and comfortable with. Resting his gaze on his son, taking in his fidgeting stance and flustered cheeks, the older Ares'mar was acutely aware that the paladin wasn't at ease with his repent. Though he disciplined Deimos to always demonstrate the utmost care and manners when in the presence of a Magister, he also knew that due to the younger elf's traveled upbringings, accepting the domineering rule would be trying. His eyes roaming Deimos' face, Tharsis tilted his head ever so slightly in thought. _Perhaps time with elves his age would be best for him…_ "Go with Elik, Deimos. Be home by 1700, understood?"

The barking order pulled the young paladin from his reverie; his gaze meeting Tharsis'. His spirits dampened with the mere prospects of being forced to endure the presence of his age group, Deimos knew the unfaltering look from his father would be unforgiving. A quick nod of his head to the older Ares'mar was all the paladin did to answer; nothing else was needed. The task wasn't directed at the young elf from a paternal figure but rather an issued order from a Commander. He would be forced to heed it.

Watching with interest, and hidden hilarity as Deimos tried in vain to conceal his disappointment and aggravation with the situation, Tharsis was sure to keep his face void and straight. Allowing his gaze to linger on the younger elf while he turned away to follow Elik, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The two younger elves walking side by side, had he been a stranger to the two, would have seemed casual and nothing out of the ordinary. They're youthful yet eager faces would demonstrate their young ages, the arrogant bounce to their steps only reaffirming it. However, knowing the attitudes and demeanor the two elves held for each other made the scene seem out of place for Tharsis. Usually bickering and passing flaccid retorts to each other, observing them stroll through the city side by side seemed odd and peculiar. Tearing his gaze away from the duo when they turned a corner, Tharsis was quick to change gears. Sending his eyes to the waiting Grand Magister, the Commander immediately quelled any other thoughts dominating his mind to solely focus on the task at hand. The slaving situation in the Sin'dorei capital had to be resolved and dealt with immediately; the memories from the attack a week prior still all too fresh in his mind.

* * *

"Where's your study group?"

"Sunstrider Isle."

"Why are we going this way?"

Glancing around himself, Deimos took in the serene atmosphere the Court of the Sun offered to its inhabitants. The rushing waters from the immense fountain resting in the center of the district emitted relaxing and soothing noises. Ornately dressed nobles and aristocrats mixed with Magisters and lieutenants, the sun glistening off the well polished and sharpened weapons hanging on their hips. Though the ambiance wasn't any bit unusual for the paladin, having grown up in the district, he was perplexed as to the reason for their presence.

Sighing impatiently with bother at the question, Elik sent a quick look at the elf easily keeping pace beside him. "I have to make a stop along the way. Listen, I don't want to be anywhere near you any more than you want to be near me. Why don't you just make both our lives easier, and go home or something?"

Narrowing his eyes in aggravation at the young mages words, Deimos allowed a small sigh to slip past his lips. "I was given an order. With my luck, he'd send an arcane guardian just to make sure I complied."

A dark and throaty laugh from Elik only infused the paladin all the more, his sneering voice adding to the anger. "And you always follow daddy's orders. Such a good little soldier."

Pursing his lips in anger as he felt his blood boil at the words, Deimos opened and closed his hands in an attempt to subdue the urge to engage the lanky mage in an altercation. "I didn't see you voice your discomfort to your father, either."

"Of course I wouldn't right in front of him." Puffing a lungful of air in disbelief, Elik glanced at the paladin in incredulity. "Are you really that dense when it comes to besting your father?"

Lifting a brow part in annoyance at the tone and part in curiosity, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. "You lie to yours then?"

Elik toseed his head back to laugh while he sidestepped an arcane guardian giving a patron directions. "Lie? It's more like I let him hear what he wants to hear – then I do my own thing. As long as he believes I actually listened to him, it doesn't really matter what I do."

"Maybe it works for your father, but it definitely wouldn't work for mine. I'd end up with a long lecture and extra training hours."

Rolling his eyes at the paladin, Elik pulled the cloak protecting his frame from the bitter wind tighter. "Tharsis _does_ have you trained as his little pet."

Opening his mouth to reply with a retort, unable to withstand the mages' scoffing comments any longer, Deimos took note of their surroundings. Stopping to a standstill abruptly, the paladin took in the shabby and worn buildings they were fast approaching as they were about to leave the Court of the Sun and enter Murder Row.

"Elik, wait."

Sighing dramatically, the young mage turned around with greater annoyance at the paladin. "What now, Ares'mar?"

Opening and closing his mouth, Deimos allowed his gaze to roam over the darkened and daunting atmosphere the upcoming district offered him. Noticing the uncannily barren streets that lay ahead of him, void of even an arcane guardian or patrol, the paladin felt his mind warp into unease. His father's firm and strong voice resonating through his head, Deimos knew the seedy district was forbidden for him. Glancing back at Elik's impatient and edgy features, his arms defiantly crossed over his chest in a mocking way, Deimos heaved a deep sigh. Grudgingly forcing his feet to move from their planted positions, the paladin was finally able to find his voice. "N-Nothing."

Sighing again, the mage turned back around to commence his walking towards his ultimate destination. "Good. I've got to stop at The Sanctum to grab a couple books."

Moving into the threatening and eerie district, Deimos subconsciously ran his hand cross his back only to remember he was without a sword. Silently berating himself at the vulnerable position he was in, he felt his senses heighten to compensate for the loss. Glancing to his sides every so often, the paladin took in the deserted avenues, the ragged and torn fabric hanging across the streets, and the screaming silence that filled the space. Watching the back of Elik, who walked slightly ahead of Deimos, the paladin was taken aback by the ease and comfort the mage had when sauntering through the district.

"The Sanctum? What do you want there?" The Sanctum, though well known throughout Silvermoon City, carried a less than caliber reputation amongst the citizens. Housing the warlock guild, as well as trainers and apprentices, the area was usually seen as distrusting and suspicious. The Sin'dorei viewed demons in disgust and repulsion; a warlock unintentionally obtaining a similar reputation.

A deep sigh emitting itself from deep in his throat, Elik gave a strong shake of his head while he glanced over his shoulder at the paladin. "Just a book."

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the mage, Deimos was prepared to initiate an interrogation regarding Elik's activities. Though he could care less about him, the paladin couldn't quell his curiosity surrounding the situation. Any information against the young Rommath was deemed important and necessary. However, his inquisitive nature was immediately overcome with defense and guard when movement to the right side of him caught his eye. Immediately stopping in his tracks, the paladin whipped his head to the side, allowing his senses to overcome him. His eyes roaming the area where the movement once was, he was greeted with a barren and desolate alleyway. The dark and sinister passage put the paladin in unease and discomfort, his eyes darting around his surroundings in a defensive manner. Not picking up on even the slightest of movements in the shadows or corners, Deimos heard a pair of familiar footsteps approach him from behind.

"Seriously, Ares'mar? Are we going to stop every five minutes?"

Tearing his gaze away from the murky alley to glance at Elik's impatient face, Deimos felt his voice and gulp of air become strangled in his throat. Standing paces behind Elik's keen figure was a male undead. Widening his eyes in surprise and alarm at meeting the dead human's gaze, the paladin was put at even more disturbed when the figure mysteriously disappeared into the shadows that surrounded itself. His eyes roaming the area for any sign of movement or indication for an attack, Deimos was well aware of the ominous situation they were in.

Looking back into Elik's intolerant expression, the paladin gripped his wrist. "We have to leave _now_."

His face contorting into immense confusion and anger at the clutch on his appendage, the young mage pulled away from the other elf. "We're not leaving until-"

"Elik! We're not safe here."

Struggling to keep his voice from wavering, Deimos had had enough. Turning on his feet to leave the district from where they had entered from, Elik in tow, he felt his heart plummet into his stomach and his blood freeze in his veins. Standing where they had come from were two humans, both watching them with paramount interest and desire. His eyes examining and roaming the humans in front of him while he felt the tugging from the mage, the paladin took in the sharpened daggers dripping with poisons on each of their belts and the thick leather armor adorning their chests. His eyes resting on a tattered piece of fabric wrapped around the upper arm of both humans, Deimos' adrenaline increased tremendously at the Trade Coalition emblem.

The tugging coming to a standstill, the paladin hesitantly turned around to glance at Elik and lose eye contact with the humans. Unarmed and unable to defend himself, he knew the alarms sounding in his head were for good reason. Glancing back at the young mage, Deimos only realized his mistake of taking his eyes off his enemies too late. Feeling the exchange of air from behind him, he swiftly threw the frightened and shocked Elik to the side without care, himself rolling out of the attack with ease. Quickly allocating more attentional resources to his hearing in hopes of avoiding another attack, Deimos looked around himself from his position on the toned street. Expecting to see the humans looming over him or Elik, the young elf was instead greeted with the familiar desolate and silent district. Darting his eyes around in an alarming fashion, he allowed his gaze to linger longer on the shadows. _They're playing with us._

Huffing and puffing beside Deimos pulled his attention away from his inspection. Pulling himself to his feet in fear and distress, Elik stared wide eyed at Deimos; as if waiting for the elf to offer an explanation or word that the situation was defused. Instead, he was met with the paladin's own alarmed face. "Deimos! What in the Light was that?"

Picking himself up from the ground, his gaze looking around for any sign of an impending attack, Deimos turned his attention back to Elik. About to open his mouth to reply, the paladin was taken aback by the mages eyes widening more than they already were, his fair complexion draining the blood in pure fear. Whipping his head around to inspect what spooked the mage, expecting to see either the humans or undead with a dagger drawn, Deimos was instead met with an empty street. Brows together in confusion, the paladin turned back to Elik only to see his retreating form. Sprinting full speed into the darkened alley away from Deimos, the paladin was both surprised and terrified.

"Elik! Wait!"

The young mage, however, wasn't heeding to the request. His movements and thoughts were dominated by one emotion ruling over the others; fear. Whatever the young elf had seen had petrified him down to his core. Growling in frustration at the diminishing elf, Deimos spared a quick glance around himself before running after Elik. Watching the mage's swift body disappear around a corner to the left, the paladin tried in vain to increase his pace in hopes of catching up with him. Though he was better conditioned from years of training and practicing, Elik had allowed his fear to control his body. Only sparing several glances to his side, Deimos assumed their intruders were close by; only fueling his desire to leave the district.

Panting as the cool winter air cruelly whipped by his face as he turned the corner in pursuit of Elik, Deimos sent a silent prayer to the Light that the other elf had found some sort of sanctuary. Expecting to find the passageway empty, Elik's fleeing form already tearing down the adjacent alley, the paladin came to a rapid halt at what lay ahead of him. Instead of the proverbial bare and worn down streets, Deimos was greeted with a more terrifying and startling scene. Held by a large and brawny human was Elik, his pathetic and weak struggles hardly causing his captor to fight to keep him still. His wide and fright stricken eyes meeting Deimos' in an imploring fashion, the paladin almost didn't notice the second human standing beside them.

Taken back by the scene before him, Deimos had a momentary second of delay in his reactions. Feeling a whoosh of air behind his back being his only warning, the paladin clumsily sidestepped a slicing dagger to the back of his neck. Whipping his head around to keep an eye on his assailant, the young elf was instead rewarded with empty space. Snarling in aggravation at the tactics the men were taking, he had had enough. Swiftly murmuring enchanted words, the cracked and worn stone beneath the paladin's feet erupted in a great and strong golden light. The strong consecration filled the area surrounding Deimos, the fierce holy attack illuminating the space. Darting his gaze around himself, noting with distaste the attack failed to reach the humans and Elik standing paces away, the elf was rewarded with a lone figure emerging from a corner. His face contorted in pain from the holy energies filling his body, the male undead uneasily gripped his twin daggers in hands as Deimos rapidly approached him.

Pausing to quickly contemplate the possible outcomes for the skirmish, the paladin didn't see many coming out in his favor; he was simply outnumbered and out armed. Flexing his hands open and closed in determination, he sent a silent prayer to the Light. The lit up street slowly fading, he directed his attention at the momentarily stunned undead. For what he lacked in weapon damage, he would have to make up with holy attacks. Outstretching his open hand in front of him towards the undead, Deimos concentrated on his enemy while he whispered an incantation. The undead dreadfully recognizing the charmed terms, he was too late to stop the exorcism. As the last word left Deimos' mouth, a strong bolt of holy energy ruthlessly slammed itself into his opponent's body; blasting his skeleton-like body paces away.

His body feeling the fatigued effects of executing the two strong, yet demanding holy attacks consecutively, Deimos eyed the unmoving undead with satisfaction. Not allowing himself to take joy in the small victory, the paladin began to turn around to take on the remaining assailants. A strong and hard slam to the side of his head though, caused the young elf to fall to the street. His vision swimming and head screaming in pain, Deimos listened for the all too familiar sound of a blade slicing cleanly through the air. Rolling to the left, the action only irritating his head wound all the worse, the paladin glanced up at his opponent. Staring down at him several feet away was one of the humans, his anger and infused face glaring down at the young elf with malice.

Not bothering to attempt to pull himself up, Deimos instead focused his attention on subduing the incensed human. Acknowledging that his being had a dwindling supply of mana and energy, the paladin forced his body to comply with his desire and command. Rapidly repeating an incantation in hopes of ending the brawl, the young elf was interrupted when his side erupted in white hot pain. A strong impact to his body causing him to roll to the side, Deimos clenched his eyes shut in pain from the plated foot that slammed into his unarmed midsection. Panting and winded from the assault, he prepared himself to attempt to proceed with the planned attack. A second brutal and vicious kick to his stomach, however, impeded his movements. Landing on his back painfully from the strong assault, the young elf instinctively wrapped his arms around his midsection in an ill attempt to guard any further attacks.

Daring to crack his eyes open, Deimos' line of sight filled with a deathly calm and emotionless human; different from the other two. Standing directly over the paladin, the imposing man moved with impressive speed as he knelt down and gripped the elf's throat in one beefy hand. Lifting the beat and aching Deimos with disturbing ease, the elf weakly struggling, the man thrust him with immense strength towards a stoned wall. Colliding with the building painfully, his left shoulder crunching unforgivingly from impact, Deimos fell to the ground with a thud.

His lungs screaming for more air, head pounding in pain, and shoulder aching in discomfort, Deimos knew the outcome was no longer in his favor. Propping himself up on one elbow with a grimace, the young elf swiftly gripped the dangling ruby necklace resting around his neck. Giving a quick tug, he was rewarded with the chain opening, and the necklace freely falling from its place. Taking note of the two pairs of footsteps approaching him, the elf tossed the necklace discreetly to the left. Watching the heirloom necklace bounce and land beneath a splintered and shabby bench left a sour taste in his mouth. Wincing slightly as heavy and forceful hands wrapped themselves around his upper arms, hauling him to his knees, Deimos hesitantly met his captors faces.

The two humans stood in front of him, both wearing drastically contrasting facial expressions. The human that glared at him with malice still held a discontent for the younger elf; the other man's face holding a sly grin. The inquisitive yet invasive look from the human caused a shiver to run up Deimos' spine. His chest rising and falling rapidly from the brawl, the paladin was sure to keep his head proudly raised; he wouldn't give the humans the satisfaction of seeing him bested.

"This one's only been trouble," the incensed looking human began in Common, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. "Too much trouble, if you ask me."

The plate-donned man standing beside him didn't seem the least bit perplexed by his colleague's words. Instead, his unnerving grin only increased in intensity as he slowly approached Deimos. "What are you talking about? Look at him." Pausing to run his eyes up and down the young elf, the human smirked. "He's a gold mine."

No longer able to withstand the talking's in front of him, Deimos began to push himself to his feet with a growl. He would be damned if he would willingly depart with the traders. However, a swift and hard backhand across his face caused his head to whip to the side as his feet lost their balance. A set of firm hands gripped his shoulders as he was forced back on his knees, a thin trail of blood running down his chin.

Struggling weakly against the unwavering grip, Deimos stilled his fighting when a deep laugh reached his ears. Glancing up, the young elf met the plated human's amused glare. "Yes, he definitely has some fight in him."

"I would say." A gruff voice from behind Deimos sounded, the vice grip on his shoulders tightening.

"I'll have people looking for me," Deimos began in Common, slightly raising his head higher. "I'm a soldier of the Alliance."

The grin on the man's face faintly fell at the words as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sparing a quick glance at his partner holding Deimos in place, the plated human narrowed his eyes at the angered young elf. "It's good to see you speak Common, elf." Pausing to give a wave of his hand and place the grin back on his face, the human continued. "And no matter for your involvement with the military. In a couple weeks, not even the Lich King himself will be able to track you down."

Crouching down, the human bent on one knee in front of the young elf with a smirk. The close proximity of the man only infuriated Deimos all the more; his form nearly shaking in resentment. "Yes, we'll get quite a bit from you."

"I'm nobody's property."

Laughing lowly from the paladin's words, the human rose to his feet with a smug look on his face. Giving a small and brisk nod of his head to the figure behind the young elf, the man directed his gaze back to Deimos with a smirk. "Have a good sleep, _paladin_."

The last word coming out in a mocking fashion, Deimos didn't have time to send a retort before a hard and forceful object made contact with the back of his head. Blackness immediately overcoming him, the young elf only had time for a brief thought to cross his mind: _Why me…_

_

* * *

_

Turning the page from the report, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. The lengthy report detailing the reconnaissance mission at Icecrown several months ago was extensive, to say the least. After having his son read the account and give him his input, Tharsis was thumbing through the report once again to get a different angle on it. Always longing to challenge Deimos with mental conditioning, the boy had developed an acute sense of strategic planning and tactful sense. Aiding Tharsis in the planning and executing of the raid on the Stormwind five years prior, the paladin's honed skills were impressive. Asking for his input pertaining to the report wasn't only educational for the boy, but also logical. Though the commander trusted in the ability of the lieutenants, he's ulterior motive to groom Deimos into a better soldier dominated many of his choices.

Crossing his arms over his chest while he leaned back in his chair, Tharsis gave a look around the library. The desk was littered with its usual amount of reports and pages, the only area with untidiness. The white plush sofas were clean and vacant, the remaining furniture following suit. Not a single book was out of place in the tall and escalating shelves, while all the surfaces were void of any signs of debris or dust. Save for Tharsis' figure at the desk, the house seemed to carry an empty and desolate feeling, the eerie stillness of the dwelling putting the older elf at unease. However, the feeling wasn't novel to the commander. Months prior, when returning from the campaign in Northrend, Tharsis was welcomed home to a vacant house. While he was vexed for the reason of his son's belatedness from rendezvousing at the front, he was more irritated when learning of his long-term leave for Stormwind. Living in the barren residence had only seemed to infuse Tharsis all the more; listening in vain for his son's movements throughout the house only to be responded with silence. Commencing the daily meditation and eating meals alone had seemed foreign and strange to the commander.

Giving a small tilt of his head, Tharsis heaved a sigh at the calmness and silence that instilled the dwelling. Though he longed for peace and quiet from his son at times, Deimos' habits and antics had become a part of his own daily routine. He expected to hear the young elf grudgingly roll out of bed at 0600, feel his company during meditation, and see his eager form welding a blade at practice. The lack of his presence in the house seemed to create a rift in Tharsis' own day; the continuous silence breaking his line of thought. However, the commander acknowledged the importance of Deimos spending time with Elik, or those from his proper age group. If Elik was to take his place as a Magister in the future, the necessity for Deimos to be on sound terms with him was crucial. Though the two young elves fought at each other's necks, they would eventually mature out of the juvenile bantering.

Glancing down at the clock, Tharsis was both surprised and dismayed at the placement of the golden hands on the timepiece: _1704._ Brows together in irritation, he couldn't quell the annoyed and fuming emotions that swelled inside him. While Deimos was a mere four minutes late, the boy knew better; especially with the events that transpired only a week prior. While it was possible the young elf had simply gotten sidetracked in conversation with the elves of his age group, Tharsis was still mentally preparing a lecture. Such irresponsibility and frivolity wouldn't be tolerated.

A loud and booming knock resonated throughout the dwelling, ripping Tharsis from his musings. Lifting a delicate brow up in curiosity at the thunderous rapping on the front door, the commander promptly rose to his feet. Moving across the library, he was slightly perplexed for the reason of the knocking. Knowing he wasn't expecting any visitors or company, he gave a small shake of his head when assuming who it was. Several more strident and piercing thuds broke the houses' silence, demonstrating the person's impatience setting in. Always locking the front door after entering the house, Tharsis naturally assumed Deimos had absently forgotten his key. Pushing back the silks to enter the lavish foyer, Tharsis knew it wouldn't be the first time.

Another set of loud banging emitted from the door as Tharsis approached it, his head shaking in annoyance. Unclasping the lock, Tharsis pulled the heavy and great door open. "Enough, Deimos. Perhaps if you remembered- Brightwing! How can I help you?"

Standing before Tharsis with a troubled look on his face was Brightwing, accompanied by several armed and blank faced guards standing behind him; weapons remaining untouched at their sides. His imploring eyes roaming Tharsis' waiting face, the ranger-general set his jaw in an attempt to calm himself. "Is Deimos here?"

The serious and somber tone emitted from Brightwing caused Tharsis to stand up a bit straighter and keep his own voice matching the graveness. "He's with Elik. Why?"

Muttering a crude curse under his breath, Brightwing pursed his lips in silent anger. "Are you positive you haven't seen him? Perhaps he came home before you did?"

Leaning his weight to the side in pure curiosity from the begging tone lingering in Brightwing's voice, the commander gave a brisk shake of his head. "He hasn't returned." Taking in the ranger-general's face visibly fall at the words, Tharsis narrowed his eyes while adding an edge to his voice. "Brightwing, what's wrong? Has he gotten into trouble?"

Running a hand over his worn face, Brightwing let a long sigh escape through his lips. Sparing a quick glance at the soldiers standing behind him, he rested his gaze on Tharsis' impatient and keen face. "It would be best for us to sit down and discuss this."

Darting his eyes around the ranger-general's face, irritated by his defeated and routed expression, Tharsis wasn't prepared to heed the elf's request. "If it has to do with my son, I demand to be told."

The barking and harsh command not phasing Brightwing in the least, the elf licked his lips in thought. Having been acquainted with Tharsis for the vast amount of time that he was, the ranger-general expected nothing less from the elf. Heaving a sigh in trounce, Brightwing slipped a hand into his pocket to retrieve an important item. Not able to hold the commander's hard and severe gaze, he diverted his eyes to the floor while he fumbled for the article.

"An apprentice walking to the Students of Shadow reported an item they found to an arcane guardian patrol. Thankfully, it was the student that found the item and not the usual caliber of citizens in Murder Row." Pausing as his hand wrapped around the object he sought in his pocket triumphantly, Brightwing was swift to raise the item in the air. "He said he found this in an alley."

Feeling the blood drain from his face and a tremor run up his spin, Tharsis eyed the ruby pendant dangling from the broken chain Brightwing held with disbelief. The arcane infused light hit the necklace at the right angle; the black and white Thalassian symbol glinting with mockery. His heart beginning to race at the same pace his head was pounding, the commander hastily grabbed the necklace that belonged to his son. "He found this in Murder Row?"

His eyes roaming Tharsis' face, Brightwing was slightly taken back by surprise at the sheer magnitude of emotion the commander displayed. While it still significantly lacked the amount of appropriate reaction a typical parent would harbor, the quantity surpassed Tharsis' usual impassive and uncaring look. "Yes. I've already seen to it-"

"Where's Elik? Have you checked with the study groups? There must be an explanation; Deimos knows he's not to step foot in Murder Row. Were there any witnesses around the-"

"Tharsis, please," Brightwing began, his voice curbing a more demanding and serious tone, "I've already spoken with Rommath and the younger elves. Deimos and Elik never met with them."

His fist closing angrily around the small and delicate ruby, Tharsis lifted his gaze to rest on the ranger-general; his own tone matching the other elf's intensity. "Elik is missing as well?"

"Yes. Rommath wished to speak with you first but I felt it best if I did. We've halted all movement in and out of the city walls – though based on our preliminary searching, I doubt it'll do anything."

Shaking his head furiously, Tharsis abruptly spun on his heels away from the open door and group of elves. Taking large and swift strides towards the library, his tight grasp on the necklace never faltering or wavering, he felt his early emotions subside. Though initially shocked and worried at the news of his son's disappearance, the commander knew the situation would have to be dealt with strategically and rapid. No longer were his thoughts and emotions plagued with that of sheer anxiety. Instead, they were dominated with a battle-ready and cold attitude. His mind reeling through the vast amount of reports pertaining to the dire activity in Murder Row, he pushed the silks back to enter the library.

"Tharsis!" Brightwing exclaimed to the hastily departing elf. Giving a hand gesture to the waiting guards to remain in their spots, the ranger-general moved through the lavish and rich foyer in an effort to reach Tharsis. Following him through the billowing silks that hung in the doorway, Brightwing paused in the middle of the library to observe the commander approach his desk with determination.

"You said you had a preliminary search going on?"

Watching Tharsis pull a pen from the depths of his untidy desk and retrieve a piece of what seemed like blank paper, Brightwing gave a hesitant nod. "The search is still currently going on."

"I'll need the finished reports and findings from the guardians; preferably by tonight. I'm going to need the name of the student that found Deimos' necklace. I have to question him. I'll also need the names-"

"Whoa, Tharsis," Brightwing interrupted, his head shaking incredulously at the commander's words. "I know you want to begin searching for Deimos immediately – as do I! However…" Pausing as his voice lingered off while he searched in vain for better words, he met the firm and sever gaze from Tharsis. "Some believe that due to…personal involvement, you should be pulled from the mission."

The pen falling from his grasp with a clank, Tharsis straightened himself to his full height. Narrowing his eyes angrily at the calmly standing ranger-general, the commander gritted his teeth in fury. "I've been working on this mission for months. Who believes this?"

"Rommath mostly. He convinced the Magisters that you should have gotten this issue taken care of weeks, or months ago. He's claiming you haven't been putting enough effort into the job."

"And what of you, Brightwing? Or Lor'themar? Do you think I should be pulled from the mission?"

The snide and sneering tone from the commander caused Brightwing to send his gaze to the side; suddenly finding the golden and red trim on a plush pillow resting on a couch interesting. "You know I want to see Deimos and Elik safely brought back just as much as you do, Tharsis. Perhaps the Magisters are-"

"-right?" Tharsis interrupted, his yelling and incensed voice no longer able to hide its malice at the turn of the conversation. "Has Rommath had you mind wiped, Brightwing? I'm fully capable and able at tracking down and finding my _own _son!"

Growling at the booming and angered voice that resonated throughout the elevated ceiling, the ranger-general was quick to match the commander's intensity. "Light! Cannot you not swallow your pride long enough to find Deimos? And listen to yourself! This is why they're taking you off the mission. You're not thinking rationally or level headed."

"I'll get a hell of a lot more done than some poorly trained subordinate would! So you can go back to the Spire and tell those limp-dick Magisters that I'm staying on! And I _will_ find Deimos and Elik."

Raising a surprised brow at the vulgar words Tharsis used, Brightwing heaved a deep breath. His mind and body calming significantly, the ranger-general crossed his arms over his chest as his voice took a soother tone. "They're already decided." Pausing to bite his lower lip in thought, he felt the commander's angered and incensed gaze boring into him. "However, I'm sure any information, or tip offs, that you may be able to provide the officer undertaking the mission would be… most appreciated."

Taking several deep breaths at the hidden meaning lingering behind Brightwing's words, Tharsis gave a small and brisk nod of his head. Opening up his hand that had the necklace in a vice grip, he gazed down at the shining ruby pendant. Running his thumb over the smooth and polished edges, Tharsis knew if the Magisters wanted him off the assignment, they would be monitoring his activity. Not usually one to directly disobey an order, the commander felt a small thrill of exhilaration at his rebellious attitude; yet also a small pang of guilt. His thumb tracing the symbol carved into the ruby, Tharsis swiftly subdued the feelings of remorse. While he would be restricted from the actual activity of searching for the elves, the commander would commence his own investigation. Though he couldn't be the one to retrieve his son, he could point the direction for those who could.


	10. Chapter 10

_The whipping winds and booming thunder enveloped the sinister and looming darkness; creating an ominous and menacing night. The harsh winds the storm created filled Silvermoon with a constant deafening noise; the frequent claps of thunder and pang of lightning interrupting it. Raids of rain and hail would ease in and out, as if sharing the ferocity of the storm with the lightning. Only an occasional arcane guardian would stroll down the tempest and gale streets, the masses of citizens tucked away safely in their homes. _

_Lying on his side, a lone elfling clutched a stuffed animal in his arms in sheer terror and fear while the threatening storm loomed outside his window. Slamming his eyes shut and burying his head further into the toy, the winds only increased their fury. Though the large windows were enchanted to protect the room from the outside elements, the hanging silks still swayed with as much vigor as the storm. His room on a corner of the house, the elfling was subjected to hearing the harsh weather all the worse. _

_A great bolt of lightning lighting up the sky, Deimos snapped his eyes open at the booming thunder he knew would follow. Squeezing the stuffed Pandaren in his arms as if to seek security from the toy, the young elf of nearly seven years old sent a silent prayer for the cruel weather to ease up. Glancing around himself, he knew his pleas were in vain; he had overheard his father speaking of the ill weather lasting through the following day. Lying in the middle of a bed far too large for his small size, Deimos' room was void of any indication an elfling inhabited the space. Instead, a desk and chair, both unable to accommodate his small size, rested on one side of the room while the bed was situated in the other. Two well-polished swords hung on pegs on the wall, their sharpened blades shining when the lightning struck. _

_A piercing thunder resonating through his room, Deimos' wits had had enough. Waving his hand swiftly in the air, the elfling was relieved when the room was filled with an arcane-infused light. Sitting up in his bed in fright, Deimos knew the small reprise would only be temporary. If his father was to find out that he was awake, it would prove to have ill consequences not in his favor. Biting his lip nervously and dreadfully, the elfling looked around his room in an attempt to seek a sense of security. Part of himself felt silly and ridiculous for fearing something as mundane as a thunderstorm. Having commenced his training as a warrior several years ago and only recently taking up lessons as a paladin, Deimos had been subjected to far worse than lightning and thunder. Nine months prior, the elfing had been brutally injured while accompanying his father on a campaign; the battalion raided in the midst of night. However much the waging war around him was frightening, the elfing had found comfort and ease of mind at knowing his father resided only feet away from him. _

_Whipping his head to the side as a bright bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, Deimos braced himself for the harsh clapping thunder that he knew would follow. Instead, however, he was rewarded with a much more menacing response. The small arcane powered chandelier in the middle of the ceiling erupting in a ball of heatless fire, the elfing watched in horror as the fixture was consumed by a mighty inferno. As fast as it began, the flames were doused; leaving the room in pitch darkness and the chandelier void of any power. His breathing seemed to come to a standstill as much as his movements did; his entire form unmoving. Though he could hear the loud thumping of his blood resonating through his head, Deimos didn't dare move a muscle. Instead, he sat rigid and frozen in fear. His grasp on his beloved toy never faltering, the elfing futilely darted his eyes around the room enveloped in darkness. Attempting to seek the source of the fire, his young mind began to wander; only creating all the more menacing conclusions._

_Feeling and hearing his heart rate increase with each embellished thought, Deimos was unprepared for the daunting bolt of lightning that filled the room with a brief flash of light. His mind and wits no longer dominated and listening to reason, the elfling sprang from his bed in pure terror. While a minute part of his senses told him to seek aid from one of the blades resting on the walls, his instincts dictated otherwise. His bare feet landing on the polished marble with a nearly inaudible thud, Deimos raced to the hanging silks in the doorway. A bang of thunder filling the house with its raging roar, the elfling squeezed the Pandaren in his clutches tighter while he ran through the silks that separated his bedroom from the hallway. _

_Not the least bit surprised at the lack of illumination from the rest of the house, or caring to take notice, Deimos kept his eyes on his ultimate destination. Straight ahead of him, located on the opposite side of the hallway, were the thick and daunting silks that led to his father's chambers. The imposing and intimidating woodwork that made up the doorway only gave a sliver of what to expect from the elf that inhabited the space. Though he already knew how his father would handle him barging into his room at such a ghastly hour, Deimos was unable to heed to reason. His adrenaline pumping and feet swiftly moving, the elfling was powered purely by fear. Pushing past the thick silks to enter the master bedroom of the home, Deimos immediately sought the object of his searching. A lush and great bed, ornamented with a half enclosure of fine silks and intricate golden accents, was situated on the opposite wall. Mounds of plush pillows constructed of exceptional material filled the head of the bed, while a purple and red Netherweave blanket rested on top. His eyes resting on the prone figure that lay in the middle of the bed unmoving, the elfing made his approach to his slumbering father with as much ease and softness as he could muster. _

"_What is it, Deimos?" _

_The fatigued yet stern voice causing his feet to stop their approach, the elfling eyed the unmoving figure in the bed. Wetting his lips in anticipation, Deimos clutched the stuffed animal tighter to his chest. Though he was faintly aware he was in the wrong for interrupting his father's sleep in the midst of night, the young elf reveled in the peace of mind that he was safe in his father's presence. A clash of lightning and thunder erupted the room in a momentary flash of the light; the magnitude of the roar nearly shaking the house. Gasping ever so slightly, the fearful interruption only gave a small reminder to the elfling for his reasoning at entering his father's bedroom._

_His feet reluctantly moving forward, Deimos hesitantly approached the bed. "_Ann'da_, there-there's something wrong in my room. My light-it just-I don't know how to explain it…" _

_His small voice trailing off, Deimos didn't bother to try to conceal his fear and terror in his tone. Standing at the side of the extravagant bed, the elfling bit his lip nervously as he watched Tharsis prop himself up on one elbow to get a better look at him; also allowing Deimos to gain a better view of his father. The commander's trademark strict face was etched with remnants of fatigue and weariness, his unnatural green eyes searching his son's distraught face for more information. Sighing to himself in part of exhaustion and part of impatience, Tharsis ran a hand over his features. "Tell me what happened. Are you unhurt?" _

_Swallowing a lump that seemed to unknowingly develop in his throat, Deimos gave a small and meek nod of his head. Darting his eyes from his father's face to the twin windows that made up one side of the room, the elfling watched in dread as an angry bolt of lightning lit up the night sky. "I'm fine. It was my light though. It-It was on fire. But it's not anymore." _

_Releasing a puff of air, Tharsis leaned over to grasp the small clock that rested on the stand beside his bed. Squinting and straining his eyes to make out where the hands rested, the commander dropped the clock back on the small table with a thud. "Did you have your light on?" _

_Shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously, Deimos kept his eyes trained on his father while he lay back down on the bed. "Yeah. And then it went on fire. I didn't try it again, though. Maybe I should." _

_Rolling over to face the windows, Tharsis pulled the thick and lavish comforter up to his chest. "Don't. The storm disrupted the flow of arcane, so you're lights won't work. I'll have the enchanter fix it in the morning. Go back to sleep." _

_His heart plummeting deep into his stomach at the ending tone his father's voice carried, the elfling squeezed the stuffed Pandaren harder. Eyeing Tharsis' back turned to him, Deimos knew his father's words were meant to end the conversation; his leaving being required. His pointed ears perking up slightly at the sound of the hard and brutal rain that crashed down on the house, the young elf bit his bottom lip. The mere prospect of returning to his dark and empty room seemed daunting and terrifying; only instilling the fearful emotions back into the elfling. "_Ann'da_?" _

_Waiting several beats, Deimos was only responded with the crashing rain on the side of the house and the roaring thunder in the sky. The prone form in the bed remained unmoving and silent, the turned back to the elfling only reiterating the end of the conversation. He knew he wouldn't receive an answer; his father had found the solution to the problem pertaining to the light – no other resolution was required nor needed. His eyes trained on the turned away elf, silently pleading for him to face him, Deimos felt what resolve and security he had once attained suddenly dissipate. Instead of feeling safe and protected, he was left with an empty shell; only to be filled with despair and strong fright. Turning his gaze from his silent father as another streak of lightning lit up the sky, Deimos felt his eyes begin to fill with water. He was alone; the sole elf that he sought safety and shelter from openly turned him away. Quickly glancing behind himself towards the direction of his bedroom, the elfling was left to create his own sense of security with the aid of his beloved Pandaren and sharpened swords. Feeling a lone tear find its way down his cheek, Deimos gave one last longing look at his father. Giving a near silent sniff as another stream of water created a wet trail down his other cheek, the elfling slowly turned away from his father. _

"_Are you going to get any sleep in your bedroom?" _

_The voice, though laced with the effects of fatigue from the late hour, carried a strong and firm tone to it. Stopping in his movements, Deimos reversed what progress he made; turning back to face his father with a small sliver of hope. Though the figure in the bed didn't move, or give any indication of being awake, the elfling knew the voice told otherwise. "I'm not tired. I was just going to stay awake and read." _

_However much he willed his voice to match his father's strength and power, Deimos knew the wavering words wouldn't go unnoticed. As expected, the once unmoving body rolled over in the bed to address Deimos; the elfling furiously wiping his cheeks dry. Eyeing his son standing beside him, Tharsis lifted a brow. "You're going to read in the dark?" _

_His face scrunched together in quick thought, Deimos willed his young mind to swiftly conjure a further excuse. "I'll sit by the window and wait for the lightning." _

_Shaking his head at the ill-manifested explanation, Tharsis took in the elfling's appearance as much as the darkened room allowed. His short blond hair messy, Deimos stood with one hand clutching his stuffed animal while the other anxiously fingered the fabric of his night pants. Taking note of his glistening cheeks, the commander heaved a deep sigh of resolution. "I have an important meeting with Lor'themar tomorrow. If I allow you to sleep in here, you _will_ go to sleep immediately. No reading." _

_The stern words said in the same manner as if he was barking an order, Deimos felt his spirits lift from their dampened esteem. The empty and void spaces in his being were filled with happiness and security; his pleas and wishes miraculously being answered by the Light. Nodding furiously at his father, the elfling had a quick yet dreadful thought come to mind. "Is it ok if my Pandaren sleeps here too?" _

_Pushing himself to the other side of the bed, the cold and unused sheets feeling foreign and strange, Tharsis shook his head. "I don't care. Just get to sleep. You have a lot of studying to get done tomorrow." _

_Watching his father turn away from him, Deimos happily crawled into the large and plush bed. Laying where his father used to reside, the sheets and blankets still held warmth to them; only enticing the elfling to give into slumber all the faster. Laying his head down on the pillow, facing towards the back of the older elf, he allowed himself to revel in the feelings that erupted in his body. Though he often harbored confused and mixed emotions towards his father, Deimos always sought security and comfort in the commander. Regardless of the harsh words and ruthless drills Tharsis would bestow upon the elfling, he would seek his presence to ease his sense of mind. While he knew he would never be on the receiving end of the loving words he saw other parents share with their children, it was the mere close proximity to Tharsis that soothed him. Closing his eyes in pure bliss, all previous thoughts of terror and fear leaving his body, Deimos heaved a deep breath. The pillow carried his father's scent, a mixture of Dreamfoil soaps and a spiced aftershave; a smell that the elfling found peculiar yet familiar. Drawing the luxurious blankets up to his small shoulders, Deimos was prepared to allow exhaustion overcome his body. _

"Ann'da_, I wasn't really going to read." _

"_I know." _

Eyes snapping open, Deimos felt his heavy and panting breaths struggle to fill his hungry lungs with air. Swallowing strongly in a futile attempt to ease the dry and scratchiness that squeezed his throat, the elf blinked furiously. The strange and bizarre memory was distant and nearly forgotten, it coming to him in a dream only adding to the incongruity. However long ago it happened, though, the paladin still retained the memory in the back of his mind. One of the few times Tharsis openly demonstrated emotions and actions to that of a father, Deimos easily recalled the comforted feelings that were bestowed upon him. Though the occurrence was seldom repeated, the young elf growing and gaining confidence with each passing year, he would cherish the rarity that transpired that night.

The blinking aiding in clearing the fatigue that plagued his mind and vision, Deimos was rewarded with his line of sight being filled with jagged and warped wooden planks. Splinters and chunks of wood were missing from many of the boards, uneven nails jutting out from random area's giving evidence to the shoddy craftsmanship. Black mold seemed to call the cracks and spaces between the boards home, the appearance causing Deimos' stomach to flip in disgust. Brows together in confusion at his location, the paladin willed his mind to recall how he would be in such a filthy setting. He easily recalled snapping his blade at practice, running into Elik and Rommath, and agreeing, albeit reluctantly, to go with Elik to visit his age-mates. However, they never reached their destination. The memories of Murder Row and the slaver's rushing back to him, understanding and awareness dawned on the paladin. It was short lived, however. Instead, he was plagued with an even bigger dilemma and question. Having no sense of time or location, Deimos swallowed the apprehension and anxiety that swelled in his throat.

Realizing that he was lying on his back, the paladin pushed himself up to a sitting position. Upon rising, Deimos felt a slight tug and heavy weight on his right hand. Turning his still slightly tired gaze to inspect the reasoning, he pursed his lips together at the sight that rewarded him. A broad and harsh manacle was fastened around his wrist, the iron shackle matching the resilience of the chain that connected him to a stake slammed in the ground. Bringing his other hand around to inspect the sheer thickness and weight that the shackle was constructed off, Deimos felt his stomach drop. Whatever situation he had somehow managed to get himself in, he needed a way to get out of it.

"Don't bother. I already tried arcane power on them. They're fortified with enchantments."

Whipping his head up at the familiar voice, Deimos finally took note of his surroundings. From what he could see from his meager area, he was housed in what looked like a small and dainty wooden shack. The walls were constructed of the quality of wood as that of the ceiling; the cracks between the wood incased in blackened mold. The ground beneath him was barren and floorless. Instead, he sat on dirt that seemed to be pounded down from an overabundance of traffic. Only realizing he wasn't the only one housed in the tattered and rugged hut, Deimos glanced at the other residents around him. Five other forms inhabited the shack, each one a male, though their races varied slightly. Lying unmoving and prone were three trolls, both donning identical manacles to that Deimos had. A human that looked to be around the same age of Matheus leaned his back against the repulsive walls, his eyes starring unfocused on the wall opposite him. Turning his gaze to the familiar voice and language, Deimos met Elik's even and unwavering stare.

Running his eyes over the young mage's form, Deimos was slightly surprised at the state he was in. Void of his exquisite and fine robes, Elik was wearing only his frostweave pants and shirt. Dark and angry circles were under his eyes, his face showing hints of haggard and fatigue. His cascading ebony hair, typically well groomed and kept, was disheveled and tousled. Unconsciously glancing down at himself, Deimos was surprised to find himself in a similar fashion; wearing only his leather pants and frostweave shirt. Barefoot and without a cloak, the paladin was astonished to find himself without the chills and shivers the cold weather Silvermoon offered. Instead, he found the temperature quite the opposite. The air was thick and humid, a heavy and strong warmth heating up the young elf's body.

Sparing a quick glance at the unmoving trolls and dazed human, Deimos turned confused eyes back at Elik; resolved to speak in their native tongue. "Where are we?"

Shrugging at the question, the mage ran his hand over the barren dirt that made up the floor. "Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up a little while before you did." Pausing to glance down at his hand running through the packed down soil, Elik continued with a slight edge to his tone. "You got us into this, you better have a way out."

Lifting his brows up incredulously, Deimos gave a couple test jerks to the iron chain. "_Me_? I easily recall you running away from me when I told you not to."

Giving a puff of air out, the mage continued to push the dirt around. "I thought you had them. Maybe if I'd known you weren't strong enough to take on a couple humans, I would've finished them myself."

Gritting his teeth angrily at the mages words, the paladin spared a quick glance at the human. His stare was unwavering and firm, his face not showing any indication that he took notice of the blood elves conversing. "And how about when I caught up with you? Seemed to me like you got captured pretty easily. And anyways, you were the one that needed to go to the Sanctum." Pausing to glance over at Elik, Deimos was slightly taken back by the abrupt change in the mage's demeanor. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowing at Deimos. "What'd you want there anyways?"

His hand stilling in his actions over the dirt, the mage stared hard at the paladin, his voice tense and hard. "That's none of your business, Ares'mar. Besides, I believe you have more important things to think about than what I care to do in my own spare time. For starters, you can get us out of here."

The arrogant and snooty tone from the other elf causing his teeth to clench, Deimos gave a dubious shake of his head. While a small part of him hoped the two could put their differences aside to aid in their survival, it seemed Elik was less than helpful. Turning his attention back to the strong manacle that held him captive, the paladin ran his hand over the rough iron. Though it showed wear from elements and overuse, the shackle was tough and sturdy. The links that made up the chain were made of equal quality, the welding between the links fierce and unyielding. Narrowing his eyes to gain a better inspection of it, Deimos was only half surprised to find faint scratches along the iron. It seemed he wasn't the first to wear the binds; nor did he doubt he'd be the last.

Wetting his lips in anticipation, Deimos thought back to a brief lesson Shadowbreaker had taught him months earlier. It was during a duel with a druid that prompted the paladin trainer and commander to introduce a chant to the young elf in hopes of bettering his fighting capabilities. Caught off guard in the midst of the duel, Deimos found himself entangled in heavy and thick thorned vines. The incapacitating attack leaving him useless while the druid healed and restored himself, Shadowbreaker was quick to introduce a solution to the issue. Though the trainer gave the Sin'dorei strict instructions to practice the chant, Deimos was dismayed to admit he rarely did so. While he found the training helpful in certain situations, he neglected to improve his ability with the chant.

Focusing his attention on the thick iron cuff around his wrist, Deimos began the enchanted word to the spell he hoped would offer him freedom. Still feeling the effects of whatever poisons or sedatives the traders administered into his system, the paladin slightly doubted his ability to execute the spell. His head and thoughts somewhat foggy and sluggish, he put great concentration and power in the near silent words that slipped from his mouth. Feeling his energy begin to deplete itself with each passing word, he kept his eyes trained on the iron shackle. The last bit of the chant leaving his mouth, Deimos was surprised and impressed with himself when he felt the cuff give. Watching with satisfaction as the iron manacle fell to the ground with a soft thud, the Sin'dorei allowed a small grin to pass across his features. Though the lingering amount of mana and energy left him feeling all the more fatigued, he dared not heed to his bodies request for rest.

Twisting his wrist in a testing manner, Deimos pushed himself to his feet with as much dexterity and silence as his body could muster. Darting his eyes at the human, who didn't seem to take notice or care of the actions that transpired, the paladin turned his attention to Elik. Staring at him in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape, the mage ran his eyes over the approaching blood elf incredulously. "Come open mine now."

Promptly ignoring the demanding and insistent voice, Deimos bent into a crouch in front of Elik with a frown. "You could at least pretend to be grateful."

Watching the paladin gently pick up his shackled wrist, Elik shifted his weight on the unforgivingly hard floor at the touch. "Why should I be grateful? This is your fault."

Lifting his eyes from the iron manacle, Deimos sent a fierce and unwavering scowl at the mage, who only seemed to stare back blankly. The paladin knew arguing the matter would prove to be futile and useless; the other elf was as likely to admit his faults as the Lick King was. Offering the mage a small shake of his head, the paladin turned his gaze down at the bindings. Heaving a deep breath, Deimos' lips began to move furiously; whispered words filling the near silent air. Though he was able to accomplish the spell on himself only a minute earlier, he had a deeper doubt in his ability to perform it a second time. Not allowing himself the proper amount of time to recuperate and rest from the trying incantation, he was unsure whether it would work or not. If by some miracle of the Light the enchantment did manage to complete itself, the paladin feared what state it would leave him in.

Finishing the last bit of the spell, Deimos clenched his eyes shut at the immediate vertigo and fatigue that overcame his body. His mind felt numb and exhausted at the same time, his body aching for water. Falling forward slightly, the paladin was surprised when two unsteady hands braced his arms. Though the grips lacked strength and confidence, they were there as a support nonetheless. Wavering slightly in the crouching position, Deimos took several deep breaths in an ill attempt to subdue his body's pleas for rest. Cracking his eyes open, the paladin was greeted with Elik's slightly anxious face inspecting him.

Removing his hands from Deimos' arms, the mage lifted a delicate brow. "You going to be able to walk out of here? Because I'm not carrying you."

Running his hand over the nape of his neck, the paladin stood to his feet uneasily. The world swayed and moved in a sickening fashion, only reiterating his need for rest. Swallowing hard, Deimos slowly turned to address the mage; who was already on his feet, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I probably won't be able to defend myself as good as I ought to. I hope that academy taught you more than how to do meaningless arithmetic and poetry."

"Deimos!"

He wasn't sure if the was Elik's worried face and pointed finger or the mage yelling his name that caused Deimos to turn around. Whatever it was, the paladin knew that he should've known there was a presence behind him before Elik's warning. Had he been at full strength and energy, he would've had better reaction times. Instead, he turned around only to meet the hard and unforgiving fisted punch from another. The harsh attack slamming into his cheek bone, Deimos felt his body fall to the ground. The entire side of his face erupting in burning pain and ache, the paladin could only wonder what it was that hit him. Lying on the floor, his head spinning and eyes blinking furiously in an effort to clear the webs of bewilderment in his vision, Deimos hardly heard the commotion of a struggle happening only feet away from him. Strong and unyielding hands grabbed around his upper arms, the large grips easily encircling his biceps. Forcibly hauled to his knees as he put up a poor fight to his assailant, the paladin felt his head begin to swim at the abrupt movement.

His blinking finally paying off, Deimos' vision and mind cleared for him to gain an understanding of what was transpiring. Crouching to the side of him was a scruffy human, his black hair slicked back from lack of bathing, replacing the angry manacle on Elik. His chest rising and falling rapidly, the young mage sat rigidly and stiff as the human fastened the shackle. Turning to glance behind him, Deimos was greeted with a passive and solemn faced tauren looking down at him; his thick and burly hands resting on the Sin'dorei's shoulders. Swallowing hard and no longer wondering what had hit him, the paladin darted his eyes in front of him when movement caught his attention.

Standing before him was an undead male, his rotting and gray skin hanging off his bones in a vile manner. Meeting Deimos' perplexed yet defiant stare with an amused and mocking one, he slowly approached the kneeling paladin; his hands fiddling with an object within their grasps. "They said you were trouble. I was hoping we'd be able to get around this."

The words in Common coming out scratchy and inhuman like, Deimos was sure to keep his tone strong and controlled. "Where are we? As a soldier in the Alliance, I demand we be released. I'd entertain offers of negotiations for your life in exchange for our freedom."

Tossing his head back in a laugh, the human at Elik's side giving his own chuckle, the undead reached the downed paladin with a smirk. "We can't have you doing that little escape trick. You're going to be one of our big sellers."

Watching in interest and curiosity as the figure lifted his hands up to reveal the object, Deimos felt all the more bewildered. What looked to be a metal choker, adorned with an array of gems socketed to the sides, lay within the undead's bony fingers. Suddenly and unexpectedly, one of the brawny hands on his shoulders was momentarily gone. The other grasp placing more of its heavy weight on his other shoulder, Deimos felt a hand grip his hair and yank back. The obstinate and brutal strength not yielding in the least to Deimos' small struggles, he was distraught as he watched the undead place the collar around his neck. Shaking his head in an attempt to quell his assailants, the Sin'dorei shut his eyes in dismay as the cold metal on his skin sent shivers down his spine. The hand in his hair only pulling back threateningly, he was hopeless to stop the invasive actions from the figure in front of him. With a quick push, the collar fastened itself around the young elf's neck with a click.

Immediately, Deimos halted all movements and faint struggles. Instead, his mind and body was focused on the empty and vacant feeling that encompassed his being; frightening him down to his core. His confidence and self-assurance seemed to dwindle and leave his body with whatever else was ripped from him. He was left in a hollowed out shell.

Opening his eyes as the undead fastened the shackle back on his wrist, Deimos caught the gaze of the tauren watching him from the other side of the room. Blinking several times in a confused fashion, he was absently aware of the lack of presence from behind him. "What-what did you do to me?"

Cocking his head to the side in slight interest, the tauren crossed his arms over his chest while he eyed the lost and bemused look in the young Sin'dorei's eyes. "That band cuts you off from the Light. We'll give the key to your new master. It'll be up to him if he wants you to ever call upon it again or not."

The gruff voiced words causing a cold chill to envelope his body, the Sin'dorei could only stare back in response. Having begun his training as a paladin at the tender age of six, he was all too accustomed to his association and bond with the Light. To sense the link severed and no longer able to call upon the source of his power, Deimos felt oddly alone and disconnected from the world. Watching in silence as the three traders filed out of the hut, neither one looking back at the inhabitants that sat in forced stillness, the paladin had a foreboding and menacing thought cross his mind. Though the collar clasped around his neck was alarming and disturbing, the tauren's words carried a much more ominous intent; only reaffirming the reason for his capture.

_We'll give the key to your new master._ While Deimos was aware that slaves were sold to the highest bidder, typically deemed the 'master', the truth behind his situation had yet to dawn on him. With the collar in place and Elik's seemingly inability to conjure an attack, the prospect of being sold was becoming all the more a reality. Leaning his back against the ghastly wooden walls of the hut, Deimos bit his lip at the thought. Who would buy him? Would his new 'master' allow him access to the Light? Would he have the chance for escape once he was bought? Such questions and more plagued his young mind, only creating a sense of panic and alarm. Though he was quick to leave evidence of his capture in Murder Row, the paladin doubted others would find him. Glancing around himself in consternation, Deimos sent a small prayer to the Light; though with the collar fastened around his neck, he knew it would never be answered.

* * *

The silent night was still and serene, the moonlight illuminating the quiet districts of Silvermoon. An occasional frigid breeze would sweep through the streets, chilling whatever citizens would stand in its way. The perpetually burnt orange and deep red leaves would sway in the cold gusts, their magically induced grasp on the branches never wavering. The guardians and sentries that patrolled the moonlit streets wore thick cloaks donned over their burly and harsh armor, some sharing small talk while others enjoyed the late hours in silence. The night was calm and peaceful, the citizens sleeping happily nestled in their homes. For two elves, however, such was not the case.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Tharsis threw a thick and worn scroll to the table in irritation. Sitting in the Royal Library located deep within the Sunfury Spire, the commander took no notice to the hours that passed by. He was unsure how long he spent in the large and looming library, though the small detail meant nothing to him. His mind and actions were purely powered by his drive and determination to find meaningful information regarding his son's disappearance. Glancing around the tall and packed bookcases, some filled with aged scrolls while others housed freshly bound books, Tharsis had to refrain himself from unleashing his pent up aggravation and anger. It'd been three days since Deimos' disappearance; and the commander had little new information he sought since that time. Accepting, albeit unwillingly, that he was to take a hands-off approach to investigating his son's capture, Tharsis busied himself nonstop with paging through the seemingly sparse intel the library housed. Already spending hours at interrogating the student that was responsible for finding the heirloom necklace, the commander was damned at turning his research towards a broader spectrum. Having been on the mission for weeks already, he was familiar with what recent witnesses said. The current information not offering much in terms of a lead, Tharsis was determined to find something in past reports and intel. Hearing a cough on the other side of the long black and purple table, the commander turned his frustrated eyes at the elf that resided across from him.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Brightwing tossed a mound of frilled papers to the table top before him. The ornate and lengthy table was littered with piles of books, scrolls, and papers; the evidence of their lack of progress seemingly laughing at them. Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, the ranger-general met the even and harsh stare from Tharsis. Taking note of the dark circles that encompassed the commander's eyes and his skin's ashen color, Brightwing offered the other elf a silent scowl. Driven to locate Deimos with as much vigor as Tharsis, the ranger-general thumbed through the endless pages of reports in an attempt to uncover something of importance. Though he took breaks in the investigation for rest and nourishment, he ashamedly admitted he couldn't remember the last reprise Tharsis took. It seemed whenever Brightwing would return to the library the commander would be reading a piece of intel in silence and contemplation.

"I hope you're finding more than I am. Some of these reports are dated from before the Second War," Brightwing replied, unable to conceal the fatigue that laced his voice.

Though the exhaustion didn't go unnoticed by the other elf, Tharsis only shook his head with a growl. "I feel like we're wasting time. It's been three days and we have nothing to show for it! Deimos could be dead by now, and we wouldn't even know."

Sighing at the impatience and edginess, Brightwing glanced at a mound of papers that rested beside him. The overabundance of piles of paper creating pandemonium on the table, the ranger-general lost track which stacks were read and which were not. "I doubt they'd kill him. He's their product."

The words, though they held no ill-intent, carried a dark and ominous truth to them. The last word in the reply seemed to circulate in Tharsis' head: _product_. It created a sour feeling in his stomach at the thought of one treating his son as such; yet also infused an angry flame inside of him. Though he accepted that he sparsely displayed any form of affection to the boy during his raising, the commander acknowledged the feelings of possessiveness and overprotection that filled his body. While he felt the strange and unfamiliar sensation of minute worrisome, he harbored more intense emotions of anger and rage.

Looking up from a piece of seemingly useless intel, Brightwing glanced at the elf sitting opposite from him. Pursing his lips together as he took in Tharsis' livid yet still and passive features, the ranger-general silently deliberated the most appropriate approach with the commander. Observing and knowing the turmoil relationship the father and son held for the past two decades, the elf in front of Brightwing confused and puzzled him. When Deimos was supposed to be playing sports with elflings his age, Tharsis instead sent him into the perils and dangers of a battlefield without a second thought. Only weeks earlier the commander riddled the boy's back with harsh and angry lashes in the form of a punishment; though Brightwing doubted the paladin's actions called for such discipline. However, the emotions displayed from the commander sitting across from him bewildered the ranger-general. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just saying, the traders are looking to turn a profit. Nothing else."

Setting his jaw in slight annoyance and anger at the ranger-general's ability to detect the incensed emotions brewing within him, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. Giving a small shake of his head, the commander ran a quick hand over the nape of his neck in a poor attempt to calm his nerves. The conversation began to erupt feelings of panic and despair at the situation, the commander felt his strong and powerful resolve fading fast. "This never should have happened in the first place. If he had _listened_ to me, Light, we wouldn't be sitting here, reading through these damned reports and finding nothing. Did he think I fabricated the rule to not travel through Murder Row strictly to ruin his life? For once in his existence, could he have stayed out of trouble? What was he thinking? I already know; he wasn't thinking."

Lifting a curious brow as he eyed the fuming and riled elf, Brightwing had to use all his will power to conceal the small grin that threatened to spread across his features. Though Tharsis' words were carried in a rageful manner, they were deeply laced with worry and anxiety. Not a parent himself, Brightwing rarely utilized the tone the commander displayed; though when he was young, he was often on the receiving end of it. "You sound like your father."

The quiet and calm response taking him off guard, Tharsis was momentarily ripped from his angry reverie. Turning his livid eyes from the spot on the table they were trained on to glance up at Brightwing's passive and solemn face, the commander heaved a small sigh. Both elves of similar age, the two grew up together in the same age group. They both withstood the dreary academy days, created mischief and trouble, and enlisted in the military together. Though their current relationship was distant and business-oriented, it had once consisted of a deep and sincere friendship. "Maybe I should have given him the long winded lectures and boring conversations that I had to endure at his age. Perhaps then he would have listened to me."

A small smile gracing his features, Brightwing could all too easily remember the monotonous and never ending speeches. Though they were both conscientious and intelligent students, they had a reputation for creating trouble and strife. Boredom came easily to the two young elves, the juvenile banter and pranks offering a chance of excitement in their lives. Of course, that was all before they took their oaths and were sworn into the military.

Pulling himself from the joyful yet old memories from his childhood that danced through his mind, Brightwing frowned slightly at Tharsis. His eyes distant and dazed, the commander sat in still contemplation. Cocking his head to the side at the odd behavior, the ranger-general rested his arms heavily on the thick table. "Tharsis?"

If he heard his name, the commander gave no indication to it. Instead, he gave a small shake of his head while keeping his unwavering stare steadily focused on the paper-riddled surface in front of him; his voice coming out in a hushed tone. "I should have- Light, I could list a million things I wish I could go back and redo. Training him better, lecturing him more, not having him go with Elik. It doesn't matter anymore, though. What's done is done." Pausing to run a hand over his fatigued features, the commander continued in a small whisper. "I can only imagine what he's going through right now. Did someone buy him already? Is he scared? Angry? Hurt?"

Wetting his lips, Brightwing easily recognized the nervous and concerned tones in the commander's voice; though detecting them from the elf was foreign and peculiar. Watching apprehension and anxiety break through Tharsis' stern and fierce façade was both disheartening yet also relieving. To see some sort of paternal reaction from the elf was refreshing and easeful. However, amongst the predominant parental worrisome tones that made up his voice, Brightwing also observed a broken spirited elf. Always striving to better himself and his ways, Tharsis took every defeat as a personal one; whether it was on or off the battlefield. To see the powerful and brutal commander's tough front waver was saddening and alarming. "Tharsis, we'll find him. He's smart and strong. I'm sure he's giving them enough trouble."

The words of encouragement barely reaching his ears, Tharsis blinked several times as he slowly attempted to digest the response. Pulling himself back to reality and out of his dazed state, the commander tilted his head towards the ranger-general. "Did you find anything new?"

The abrupt change in the conversation causing him to pause momentarily to comprehend the question, Brightwing lifted his brows in small surprise. While he was unsure whether his heartening words remedied the commander's dejected being, the ranger-general gladly accepted a change in direction. Frowning slightly as he scanned a lone piece of paper resting in front of him, Brightwing shook his head. "Nothing. The reports that seem to have some sort of lead are either only initialed or scribbled with an illegible signature. Here, look at this one." Pausing to pick up a one paged report and offer it across the table to the waiting elf, Brightwing shrugged lightly. "It's starting to make me regret scribbling my signature across my own reports."

Brows drawn together as his eyes ran over the aged and sparse intel, Tharsis felt his spirits slightly lift at the words that were printed on the heading. _Investigation of a trade embargo violation as of stated in Act(5)22:7: Enforced Captivity._ "Brightwing, this is exactly what we're looking for."

"Yeah, but unless you can decipher the chicken scratch signatures or the initials, we've got nothing. Not to mention, the report is five years old." Pausing to watch Tharsis' eyes move down the page in an inquisitive yet still imploring fashion, the ranger-general puffed a deep sigh of despair. After hours upon hours of piling through useless and worthless reports, the one that could harbor some hope in their investigation offered no further leads. While it was saddening at finding yet another lead end in a stone wall, it created a sense of frustration and disappointment to the ranger-general. He had as much vigor and drive to investigate and locate Deimos as Tharsis held, yet he couldn't help but feel disturbed at the distinct lack of reports offering them aid. Though they lost access to the intel and reports from the Horde, the Sin'dorei gained contact to those of the Alliance. However, even after looking through their new found resources, they still found dead ends.

Tilting his head to the side curiously as Tharsis pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at a spot on the report in his hands, Brightwing lifted a brow. "What's wrong?"

Placing the paper on the table, the commander slowly slide it across the littered surface towards the other elf; who kept a puzzled eye on him. "I know this signature."

Snapping his eyes down to the spot on the paper that Tharsis kept a finger pointed, Brightwing scanned the unreadable name on a faded line. Narrowing his eyes on the mark, the ranger-general felt the scribble was familiar yet he couldn't seem to identify it. Shaking his head in sheer frustration and annoyance at his lack of recognition, Brightwing sighed heavily while glancing back up at Tharsis; though he was surprised at the dark look that stared back at him. Expecting to see at least a small sliver of excitement or hope on the commander's face, Tharsis' features were void of any. Instead, his jaw was set back and a frown etched across his features. "Is this person still alive?"

A snide and sneering laugh escaping his clenched jaw, Tharsis gave a single nod of his head while crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Oh yes, he's very much alive."

Lifting his brows incredulously at the lack of esteem at the hopeful lead, Brightwing ran his eyes over Tharsis' darkened and cold features. "Ok, so who is it?"

* * *

The mid afternoon sun beat down on the citizens of Stormwind, its rays offering a small reprise from the bitter wind that whipped through the streets. The late fall breeze carried a slight iciness to it, giving the citizens of the human capital a taste of what was to come. Though the chill moved through the winding canals and streets with malice and spite, the bustling city continued on with its usual activity and hum. The students studying the ways of arcane magic sat wrapped in cloaks on the grassy lawn in the Mage Quarter, books and papers sprawled around them. Young legislative pages and squires raced through the cobblestone streets, bundles of reports and scrolls filled their arms. The sounds of steel clashing against steel mixed with yelling and grunts filled the air around the Command Center, the fresh initiates practicing their drills against each other and the dummies. The hectic and buzzing commotion in the Trade District saw no decrease in activity, the cold weather not preventing the daily merchants and business patrons from continuing their work.

Glancing out the large window to his left, Warren Steele heaved a tired and dismayed sigh. The sun's bright rays spilled onto the kitchen floor, the polished tiles shining under the intense light. Sitting at the Sin'dorei accented table, a neat stack of papers resting in front of him, Warren eyed the window in passive disdain. Though the rays gave the impression of warmth and a comfortable heat, he knew it was a mere illusion; winter was fast approaching and the season was adjusting accordingly. Though he still pushed the soldiers in his battalion despite the frigid temperatures, he knew spirits and drive would be dampened. Once the forest was blanketed in a thick and cold layer of snow, training and drills would become all the more difficult to schedule and execute. He was only thankful that there was talk of deploying the battalion to the Barrens; the tepid and hot temperatures much more attractive than the chilly winter.

Turning his eyes back down at the orderly papers in front him, Warren was given small satisfaction that he was nearly done reading through the intel. Deciding to dedicate the entirety of the day to catching up on forgotten and neglected reports, he made a silent vow to not fall behind on the task again. Though the meager pile was nearly finished, he knew a larger stack awaited him in the study upstairs. Somewhat thankful that his old and shoddy wooden furniture was replaced with more luxurious and comfortable pieces, the commander figured he'd be spending the greater part of the day at the table. While there was a desk and chair waiting for occupancy in the study, he never quite got in the habit of using it. The most use the room saw was when a certain blood elf shared the house with him.

Lifting his head up from the report when a loud and booming knock resonated through the house, Warren let loose a small gust of air. Though he wasn't expecting a visitor, he could easily guess who resided on the other side of the door. The dying afternoon soon lingering into evening, the commander knew it was only a matter of time until Matheus Williams, rogue and friend, would wander over to his humble abode in hopes of going to the tavern. Usually eating dinner and enjoying the affects of a few drinks together, Warren valued the company the younger man offered him. However, it wasn't always just them two at the Pig and Whistle Tavern.

Pushing his chair back to rise from the table, the commander had already become quite accustomed to the silence and peace that enveloped the house. No longer having to share the house with another, he was slightly ashamed to admit his increase in comfort at the change. While he enjoyed Deimos' company and presence, after living decades in isolation it was difficult to acclimate to another; especially an adolescent blood elf. Though he missed and wondered about the boy, especially in regards to his well-being and his relationship with Tharsis, Warren knew his hands were tied in the issue. He also knew that Deimos was driven and head strong; characteristics that seemed to be inherited from Tharsis. If the paladin wanted to find a way back to the human city, he would one way or another; no matter the consequences.

His booted feet tapping on the glossy tiled floors, Warren moved into the foyer when another knock sounded on the door. Lifting a brow up at the impatience of whoever stood on the other side of the entrance, the commander gave a small sigh. Moving to open the door, he mentally began to prepare an excuse to give Matheus in hopes of gaining extra time to dedicate to the reports awaiting him. Twisting the brass handle, he gave it a strong tug back. Eyes widened and brows drawn together in confusion, Warren stared at the two men gazing back at him.

"Brightwing, Tharsis," Warren stammered, darting his eyes between the two elves, unsure what to make of the situation. "How-how can I help you?"

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Brightwing kept his stare even and unwavering as he met his old friend's eye. "Warren, we need to speak with you. Would it be ok if we talk inside?"

His eyes running over the ranger-general's face, Warren was left utterly confused. The usually friendly and laid back manner the elf displayed towards the commander was gone, only to be replaced with a grim and serious expression. However, it wasn't as if Warren hadn't seen the solemn look before. Fighting beside the elf for years during the hardships of war, he had come to recognize Brightwing's strict business demeanor; though he could only wonder the reason behind its intent. Glancing at Tharsis, who kept his hard gaze rested on him, Warren's curiosity was piqued all the more. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face and jaw set in a stern manner, Tharsis' presence alone was enough to put the human at unease; least of all his silence.

Pushing the door open further, Warren nodded uncertainly. "Yes, of course. Come in." Pausing as he watched the two elves enter the dwelling, Tharsis' face not falling from its firm and disturbed position, Warren cocked his head to the side curiously as a thought came to mind. "Where's Deimos?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, however, the commander wished he hadn't asked it. Tharsis' face seemed to become clouded with what Warren could detect as bother yet concern; an emotion he didn't think the elf possessed. The ranger-general also seemed to hold a similar expression on his face, though he kept more a complete façade. Keeping his eyes trained on Tharsis, surprised and puzzled at the elf's emotions, the human motioned to the sitting room located adjacent to the foyer.

Sitting down hesitantly on a stark white couch accented with red and purple pillows, Warren swallowed nervously as Brightwing sat on a small red chair across from him. Tharsis, however, remained standing, leaning his weight on one foot and his arms remaining crossed over his chest. "What's happened?"

Wetting his lips, Brightwing fingered the folded piece of paper he held in one hand. "Deimos is… he's gone."

His eyes scanning the ranger-general's face in search of more answers, Warren was only rewarded with the grave and sober expression responding him. Darting his gaze over to the standing elf, the commander was surprised to find Tharsis looking thoughtfully and silently out the window. His eyes were distant and remote, though his face was still set in a firm and rigid expression. Typically on the receiving end of Tharsis' insults and debasing comments, the older man was shocked to find the elf quiet and still. "What do you mean 'gone'? He ran away?"

"And why would you automatically assume that, Steele?"

The icy and cold words, though said in a deathly calm voice from Tharsis, stunned Warren. Blinking at the elf staring at him under a stern gaze, the human was tempted to return the look with one of equal intensity; though pure inquisitiveness dictated him otherwise. Breaking the stare with Tharsis as a cough sounded in front of him, Warren met Brightwing's grave eye.

Shifting uncomfortably on the plush and Sin'dorei fashioned chair, the ranger-general set his jaw in determination. "No, Warren. He was taken by slave traders."

"He was what?" Eyes widened in shock and leaning forward at the words, Warren was unsure how to initially react to such information. "Are you sure? He could have just run away. I'll bet he's with Matheus or Lena now. Let me-"

"No, he's not," Tharsis began in a rough and harsh voice, his voice even and unwavering despite his fuming and livid face. Though the commander silently promised himself on the way to Stormwind to remain quiet throughout the ordeal with the human, he couldn't stay silent any longer. Taking a threatening step closer to Warren, he uncrossed his arms to clench his hands into fists at his sides. "I know where _my_ son is, and he's not here. Though you may not know it, Steele, Silvermoon has been having issues with slave trafficking for a couple months now. I'd hoped to put an end to it weeks ago, but it just didn't work out that way. Now Deimos is gone, and only Light knows where. I don't know if he's hurt, sold, or even alive. All I know is that time is running out to find him and the only piece of intel leads us to you. So, I'm here to ask for your help."

The words carrying a slight panic and anxious tone to them, Warren was left stunned and unsure how to quite respond. His eyes scanning Tharsis' callous and hard face, his deep stare unmoving from his face, the human was vaguely aware of his mouth hanging agape. Giving his head an incredulous shake, Warren rested his gaze back on Brightwing's waiting form. "Of course I'll help you. What are your leads? Do you have any other aid?"

Briefly glancing at Tharsis to reassure his silence in the matter, Brightwing swallowed the small lump that formed in his throat. "Unfortunately, no. The Grand Magister's son was taken with Deimos. He pulled Tharsis from the mission and put someone else he felt was more 'qualified' on the assignment. Everything we're doing is under the table, so to speak." Pausing to offer the piece of paper in his grasp forward to Warren, the ranger-general continued as the human hesitantly took it. "This is the only lead we have. The report is dated five years ago. Your signature was the only one Tharsis recognized. What can you tell us about it?"

Brows drawn together in utter confusion as his eyes scanned over the aged paper, Warren heaved a deep sigh. He took in all the details that the meager report offered; the recorded date, messy initials, the title printed across the top, and the recognizable insignia on the upper corner. Placing the paper on his lap, the commander turned defeated and saddened eyes up to the waiting and imploring elves. "I'm sorry, but I don't know anything pertaining to this."

"What do you mean? You signed the bottom of it! Are you to tell me you're truly that irresponsible to not read the reports that you sign?"

Setting his jaw back as his eyed Tharsis' angry and infused face glaring at him, Warren was all the more tempted to return the incensed words back. His head cocked to the side, the elvish commander's form was nearly shaking with filled rage; his fisted hands threatening to unleash his pent up frustration. The human and elf had a silent battle with their glares, each one sending brutal and cruel unspoken words to the other.

"Tharsis, _meme_," Brightwing hissed back at the fuming commander, only hoping the words would put an end to the hostility enveloping the room (**Relax**). The situation dire and ominous, the ranger-general had a small yet futile hope that the two would somehow manage to place differences aside for the greater good. "Warren, are you sure you can't remember anything about the report? I understand it was a long time ago for a human, however-"

"-Even if I signed this last week, I still wouldn't have any other information to offer you," Warren began, shifting his weight under the searching stares. Picking up the paper from its resting position, the human pointed to the small and faded insignia stamped in the corner. "This emblem – it's that of SI:7. This isn't a piece of intel or a report; it's a waiver. A release form. Whatever assignment was conducted was done so by SI:7; they simply used a rogue from my battalion. This rarely happens but when it does, there's no questioning it."

Narrowing his eyes at the sitting human, Tharsis used all his will power to remain calm and collected. Gritting his teeth, he glanced out the window in hopes of subduing his wish to smash Warren's head through the wall. After days of searching and reading through meaningless pages of reports, the one that had seemed promising only led them to yet another dead end. They were back at square one; hours wasted on nothing. The thought alone made the commander's blood boil with anger, yet his spirit felt a different emotion. A peculiar and unfamiliar sensation filled his inner being; an overwhelming and defeated shadow cast over his soul. Time was fading as fast as the prospect of retrieving his son, the thought only intensifying the strange emotions in his body.

"Thankfully, however, I think I know one of the rogues that initialed the bottom."

Whipping his head away from the windowed outside, the cheery sun contrasting sharply with his dark mood, Tharsis eyed the calm human incredulously. "What? Who is it? We'll need to interview him extensively. I want to speak with him immediately."

Moving his eyes from the other elf's surprised yet determined face, Brightwing nodded his head at the human. "I agree with Tharsis. We're losing a lot of precious time."

Preparing to open his mouth to voice his reply, Warren was unexpectedly interrupted as a harsh and loud boom sounded through the house. The booming noise echoed off the elvish walls, the three inhabitants turning their heads to inspect the front door where it originated from. Several beats come and passed, a dead and still silence overtaking the area. Pushing himself up from the comfortable and plush couch, Warren hesitantly made his way to the foyer and his ultimate destination.

The entire ordeal seemed surreal and astonishing to the older man, his head still spinning from the abrupt news. While he assumed Deimos would somehow escape his father's harsh clutches, this was hardly what he had in mind. A more confusing aspect of the situation was Tharsis' reaction and demeanor he openly displayed. Accustomed to seeing and hearing the ruthless ways of the older Ares'mar, Warren was taken by surprise to see a small flicker of despair and desperation in Tharsis' eyes. While he never fathered children of his own, he naturally assumed that the elf would treat the kidnapping of his son in the same cold and callous demeanor he gave everything else. Seeing Tharsis' cruel parenting style first hand weeks ago, Warren was unsure what to make of the elf's reaction. Reaching the front door, the warrior gave a reluctant turn of the knob and tug back to reveal the source of the knocking.

Grinning ear to ear, Warren felt his spirits lift ever so slightly at the human staring back at him; completely oblivious to his involvement in such a big ordeal. "Matheus! Great timing. I was just about to call for you."


	11. Chapter 11

I'm very sorry this chapter took so long to go live. I've been pretty busy with life, and getting my characters in the game ready for Cata's release coming up. On that note, this story will continue to follow the pre-Cata storyline; as it was written and intended as such. Thank you guys!

* * *

"Let's go! Everyone up!"

Sitting unmoving, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, Deimos failed to give the slightest indication of either heeding his captor's words or even acknowledging them. Instead, the paladin held the angry and resentful look on his face with sheer determination and an unwavering firmness. Though he was mindful and aware of the sharpened scimitar's hanging from the five captor's belts and the polished guns resting on their backs, which Deimos was confident were loaded, he failed to follow the barking order and unsaid threat lingering in the air. Watching with lazy and feigned uninterested eyes as three of the captors move with précised swiftness through the meager hut, unfastening each of the bound slaves briefly only to bind them once again when pulled to their feet, the paladin stubbornly set his jaw. Though the traders had informed them that they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet cleanly through their head should they decide to make a run for it, the captors were less willing to extend the hostility to the paladin. His extraordinary training, toned body, and young age made him a rarity in his own. He was priceless. And Deimos knew it.

Not bothering to lift his head when he saw movement out of the side of his vision begin to move towards him, Deimos carefully freed one hand from its crossed position. Gingerly and futilely working his fingers on the metal collar fastened around his neck, the already heated blood coursing through the paladin's veins seemed to rise in temperature. It had been two days since the despicable restraint was placed on him, his inability to rely and call on the Light disturbing him far worse than his precarious situation. Though he knew he retained a great gift most Sin'dorei lost, that being able to utilize the Light, Deimos was truly unaware of how much he was dependent on its presence. Now that it was gone, ripped ruthless from his soul, he felt a hollowed out and empty space in his being that craved to be filled once again. He felt betrayed, lost, and confused at the same time; though the once fearful and terror filled emotions were replaced with those of resentment and antipathy. That's not to say that he didn't dread the future; quite from it. The hairs on the back of his neck would stand at the thought of what the Light had in mind for his future, where he would end up or who would buy him. Though most of him wanted to believe that a chance for escape would eventually present itself, the greater part of him thought otherwise. At least in his current location.

The human captor hesitantly crouching low near Deimos, his eyes darting from the prone blood elf to the bindings he worked with a key, the paladin allowed his gaze to linger on those in the hut. Standing rigid and enveloped in fright were the three trolls. Hardly speaking a word of Common, the trio had a trying time interpreting just what the human traders were asking of them. Relying on either body language or another trader to interpret the order in Orcish, the lack of communication made the situation all the more ominous and fearful for them. They clung to one another in such a way that made Deimos assume they were either close companions or brothers. Though based on their physical similarities, the most probable assumption was the latter.

Moving his eyes from trolls to the fidgeting human slave, Deimos drew his brows together in thought. Over the past forty-eight hours, the human had only increased his restlessness and squirming; his wide brown eyes darting around the hut every so often as if seeing the disgusting shelter for the first time. His actions were peculiar and odd; his twitching putting Deimos in slight unease. If the traders took any notice of the odd behaviors from the slave, they didn't allude to it. Cocking his head to the side curiously as he eyed the human shuffle his feet eagerly, the paladin couldn't stop the darkened and portentous feeling that swept over his body.

Not willing to dwell on any warnings of his senses, his body already aware of the dire situation he was in, Deimos allowed his gaze to rest on the final slave in the lodging with him. Standing awkwardly with his hands fastened securely behind his back, Elik shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His face and hair were riddled with dirt and debris, the repulsive quarters only hindering his once fine and up-kept appearance. Though the mage's eyes were roaming around the hut, they held a sort of distanced look to them that unsettled Deimos; a look he wasn't all that unfamiliar with. Having seen his fair share of healer's tents following a bloody battle, the paladin was unfortunate enough to have the chance to see once strong and courageous soldiers reduced to nothing in only a matter of hours. Forced to helplessly watch, or worse, futilely try to save the lives of their fallen comrades would sometimes leave the soldier with a broken and dispirited soul. Though Deimos and Elik exchanged little words in the past two days, the paladin couldn't stop the worried feelings at watching the mage slowly withdraw more into himself.

Licking his cracked and water deprived lips as he felt the harsh bindings fall free from his wrists, the once smooth and flawless skin caked with blood from the shackles, Deimos forced his body to remain still and composed. He was fully aware of the attention from the other traders focused solely on him, though he couldn't tell if the stares were daring him to trying something or pleading for him to comply. Fixating his own gaze on the dirt floor in front of himself, the young elf felt the slaver stand to his full height and tower over him.

"Let's go, _paladin_."

Stubbornly pursing his lips together at the malice lacing the human's words, Deimos didn't dare give the captor the satisfaction of compliance. Instead, he kept his stare even and strongly staring forward, despite the incensed and annoyed grunt from beside him.

"Get up!"

His small and paltry patience no longer at bay, the human roughly grabbed the elf's upper arm with sheer rage and fury. Emitting a low growl of anger as he hauled the insolent and less than submissive boy to his feet, the captor realized his mistake far too late. The once still and unmoving elf suddenly sprang to life with a fierce renewed vigor. One hard and firm fist colliding with the human's nose, the captor was dismayed to feel a second hand pull his sharpened weapon free from its resting place at his hip. Cringing and gripping his aching nose as he felt rivers of blood begin to generously pour from the harsh impact, the human was unaware of what else was going on in the small hut.

The scimitar held strongly in a trained hand, Deimos turned from the bent over human nursing his broken nose. Though he lacked the aid and much needed assistance of the Light, the young elf knew the strongly forged collar wasn't going to yield easily to his prying; if he wanted to escape, it'd have to be done so without the Light. Not bothering to allow his spirits be lifted from his small accomplishment of besting the one human, Deimos was both physically and mentally prepared for a sudden onslaught of the other four captors encompassing the hut. He knew each one carried an equally sharpened and menacing scimitar, their hesitation to use it to subdue the paladin minimal. Though he would be grossly outnumbered, Deimos highly doubted their ability to handle such a weapon against himself. Resisting the urge to smirk at the thought of the captors' diminutive swordsmanship, the young elf turned to face the rest of the inhabitants in the hut with a gasp.

While he expected the other captors to at least have their own blades drawn, he was less expectant to be staring down the barrels of four guns.

"Put the sword down, elf, and we'll spare your limbs," an undead captor grumbled from behind the view of his weapon, his scratchy voice resonating through the almost silent hut, save for the human moaning over his bleeding nose.

Setting his jaw in anger and resentment, his grip on the worn and aged scimitar flexing, Deimos darted his eyes between the four identical guns aimed at different appendages. The captors' trained fingers rested on the triggers, itching to move only an inch and send a burning bullet into the young elf's limb. His chest swelling with unspoken defeat and trounce, his eyes tingling at the notion that he knew he was bested and without a means of escape, the paladin pursed his lips together at his situation. While he had an advantage over the other slaves at being dubbed 'priceless', he was at a loss for a means of escape; either alive or not. The increase of supervision on his part left little chance for fleeing, a slaver always close by and breathing down his neck. If he somehow did manage an escape plan, as he did only seconds prior, executing it to its fullest extent would be trying. On the other spectrum, death wouldn't be granted to him either. While any other slave would swiftly have been given a fatal bullet, he wasn't reserved such a luxury. The traders were bent on preserving his life for exchange of a hefty pay.

"It's your choice, elf. Either walk out of here on your own, or be dragged out in pain. Completely up to you."

The undead's words ringing through his head, the paladin stood unmoving while he contemplated his choice. Though in reality, he knew the decision was blatant and obvious. Turning defeated eyes to glance at Elik, Deimos felt the decision be decided all the easier. The mage, his distant eyes returning somewhat back into focus, frowned deeply at the paladin in a saddened way. It wasn't in a disapproving fashion but rather an envious and lonesome expression. The paladin had a chance and means of escape, however small and diminutive as it might have been, and the mage knew it. Elik would be left behind to face his fate, whatever it would be, while Deimos got away.

Breaking the eye contact with the other Sin'dorei, Deimos turned his bitter and resentful eyes on the waiting traders with disdain. Clenching his teeth together at his overpowerment, the paladin threw the scimitar to the side; the sound of it making contact with the spoiled wooden wall leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Hesitantly putting his gun down, the rest of the traders following suit, the undead smiled triumphantly as two of his colleagues apprehensively approached the paladin. "Good boy. I knew you'd listen to reason."

Keeping his eyes to the side while he felt two slavers reach his sides, Deimos resolved to remain silent. He wouldn't walk into the undead's taunts and scoffs, regardless of how much he wished to voice his discontent. His figure only tensing up when the a pair of hands ruthlessly grabbed his wrists, brutally shoving them into a pair of iron shackles behind his back, the young elf felt a pair of eyes examining him. Turning his own gaze up to inspect who it was, Deimos was rewarded with locking eyes with Elik. The frown no longer sat on his face, his eyes no longer demonstrating lonesomeness. Instead, the young mage's swirling green eyes contained evidence of relief and respite, though they also held a much deeper emotion. Tilting his head to the side slightly, Deimos didn't allow his body to show his surprise at distinguishing the gratefulness harbored in Elik's stare, but instead acknowledged the peculiar emotion by breaking the eye contact.

His hands clamped by the iron bindings harshly, the once-scabbed wounds on his wrists beginning to wet again with blood, Deimos blinked as a rough hand encircled his upper arm. One of the traders' was standing in the entryway to the meager hut, two began to shuffle the bound slaves towards the opening, the last slaver gripping the paladin's arm while also moving towards the entrance, to whatever lay ahead of them.

* * *

"I need to know everything you know about slave trafficking. And we have limited time, so you better talk fast."

Releasing a puff of incredible air through his pursed lips while eyeing the pacing blood elf commander, Matheus Williams shook his head dubiously. Sitting on a plush and overstuffed white couch crafted in Sin'dorei fashion, the rogue hesitantly glanced to his own commander sitting beside him; his close proximity only offering a small comfort from the dire situation. If he sought reassurance and support from Warren Steele, the look staring back at him was void of any. Instead, the warrior's gaze contained similar impatience and keenness. Sitting across from the two humans was Brightwing, his even and placid stare not aiding the rogue's discomfort in the least.

Turning his eyes back up to Tharsis, who continued burning his strides into the plush rug, Matheus drew his brows together in thought. "I can tell you what I know from the mission but it's kind of outdated. I doubt much of it's relevant."

The muddled response didn't deter Tharsis' determined and firm tone; nor did it slow his indomitable pacing. "Five years is hardly considered dated."

Rolling his eyes at the Sin'dorei, Matheus doubtfully shook his head. "Maybe for someone who's 185 years old."

The pacing stopping, the commander's head snapped to the sitting rogue's direction. "Excuse me?"

His even gaze locking with Tharsis' heated and resolute ones, the rogue shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Though he swiftly broke the unbearable eye contact with the stern commander, Matheus mutely wondered how often Deimos was on the receiving end of such stares. "Look, I want to find the kid as much as you do. But there're a couple things we need to set straight before we do this." Pausing to dare his eyes to glance back up, he was satisfied to find the once strict gaze softening ever so slightly. Or rather, it was replaced with annoyance. Wetting his lips, Matheus set his jaw in resolute. "First, while five years is just pocket change for your extremely long life spans, it's pretty long ago for ours. So there may be some holes in the information."

Lifting a delicate brow, Tharsis felt his face fall into a frown. "For your sake, there'd better not be."

"Tharsis," Brightwing interjected, crossing his arms tightly over his broad chest. "This is neither the time nor place to pick a fight."

"And that brings me to my number two," Matheus began, not allowing his stare to break the silent battle with the blood elf. "All of us are working _together_. For some crazy idea, I don't think you can grasp that concept, but whatever beef you have with human's or Warren or whoever, you've got to let it go for now."

Setting his jaw stubbornly, Tharsis willed his heated blood to cool, at least for the time being. After finding and insuring his son's safety, then the rogue could be dealt with accordingly. "Anything else, princess?"

Unable to stop the small grin from adorning his features, Matheus easily recognized the sarcastic and mocking tone; though he wasn't accustomed to hearing it from Tharsis. It seemed Deimos inherited more than strictly appearance from the elder Sin'dorei. "Some of the things I saw they- well, they weren't a walk in the park." Pausing to collect his thoughts, the rogue was instead plagued and bombarded with small memories he tried to store away come to the forefront his mind. Blinking hard and turning his head to the side in an ill-attempt to strangle the ghastly nightmares back to the recesses of his mind, Matheus felt a stone drop in his stomach. Though the mission was indeed many years ago, the images of the atrocious and appalling scenes were burnt into his memories. And his stomach only turned to knots to imagine his close friend going through the horrid experience firsthand.

Easily identifying the rogue's discomfort, Warren rested his clammy palms on his knees. "Matheus, we're going to need to know everything you saw. Even if a piece of information doesn't seem important, tell us anyways." Pausing to watch the younger man hesitantly nod, the commander continued. "Now, what can you tell us about your mission?"

Wetting his lips, the rogue allowed several beats to pass by uninterrupted, his mind swiftly gathering the free-floating memories to a more organized setting. Warren and Brightwing patiently allowed the interlude of silence, while Tharsis shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. Clearing his throat, Matheus moved his gaze from Warren to Tharsis, his eyes slightly clouded over in recollection. "Well, I was assigned the mission from SI:7, as you probably know already. You know I can't tell you details about the assignment; what my objective was and what not." Moving his eyes from Tharsis' deep frowning face, the rogue instead chose to rest his stare onto Warren. "But I can tell you I was on the mission for six months, four of which were in the field. Using some intel and my fine acting skills, SI:7 arranged for me to assume an identity of a slave trader. They gave me the identity, I had to supply the finesse to get into the inner circle of traffickers. And, man, it was a lot more established and lucrative than we thought."

"Where do they take the slaves after capturing them?"

Resting his gaze back onto Tharsis, his demanding and unyielding question sounding more like a command, Matheus offered a meager shrug. "I wish the answer was as simple." Pausing to shift around on the couch, the overstuffed cushions no longer offering much in terms of comfort, the human heaved a heavy sigh. "See, there are different rings of slavery, and I doubt even I know all of them. Personal, sexual, labor, gladiator, scientific, war; you name it, there's probably a ring for it."

Setting his jaw, Tharsis felt the bitter and distasteful words leave a pungent taste in his mouth even before they left his lips. "And which one is Deimos in?"

The question, loaded and trying, caused the rogue to squirm all the more under the intense and severe trio of stares; which waited and longed for an answer of good tidings. "I can't- I can't say for certain which he'd fall under. Personal, sex, and gladiator were the big sellers when I was in the field." Shaking his head in thought, the human mutely wished the gesture would shake the horrid memories from his mind. "Based on his age and physical appearance, I'd say he'll most likely end up there."

Squeezing his hands at his sides into fisted balls, Tharsis was forced to concentrate on his intake of breath to prevent his fists from releasing his fury. The human's words ringing through his head, the commander angrily stalked over to the window, the sounds of the streets of Stormwind threatening to spill through. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, the elf easily identified his rage and hostility, though he had to force his mind and body not to physically act upon it; a concept that felt foreign and unsatisfying. Eyeing a small child racing down the cracked cobblestoned streets, a small leather ball in his grasp while several other children raced after him with smiles on their faces, Tharsis blinked angrily at the scene. The children outside played gleefully in the streets of the human capital, their minds solely focused on their juvenile banter. However, there was no parent watching over the playing children; nor any supervision for that matter. Instead, the youths were free to gallivant about in any way their hearts desired. At such a young age, any notion of consequence or dire situation would rarely cross their untrained minds. Such was never the case for Deimos.

Since the boy was born, Tharsis was set on pushing and demanding the utmost possible from his son. When he was young, such as the human children playing in front of him, Deimos was rarely let out of the commander's sight, unless it was to train with the paladin instructor. Tharsis instilled not only a curfew but an appropriate bed time for the boy, which was slightly augmented with each passing year the paladin saw. And while Deimos only recently began to complain about the rules set forth, though based on his adolescent age Tharsis wasn't all that surprised, it was nevertheless true that the commander was seen as domineering and controlling in all aspects of his son's life. However, even with his overbearing regulations and severe rules, Deimos was still kidnapped and taken.

Glancing to the side to take in Tharsis' turned back, Brightwing didn't have to see the commander's face to know the wrathful emotions coursing though him. "How would we know for certain which ring Deimos ends up in? We can't just search all the rings."

Watching Tharsis slowly turn around to face him at the open question, Matheus took a slow inhale of breath. "Well, first they've got to classify him. I guess you can say there're stages leading up to when he'll be auctioned. He's been gone for five days, so…" Momentarily pausing, the rogue burrowed his brows together in silent contemplation and deep thinking. "I would say he's just finished being classified or at the end of the process."

His face contorted into confusion, Warren shared a concerned yet puzzled look with Brightwing before addressing the rogue. "When you say classification, what do you mean exactly?"

Rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck, Matheus spared a quick glance at Tharsis, the commander's face filled with anger yet also interest. "You have to understand that to the traders, this is all for a profit. They're not going to send a scrawny gnome to the gladiator slave ring – they'd lose money and reputation. Just the same on the other spectrum; they won't send a slave like Deimos to the scientific ring. It'd be a waste. So to determine where everyone goes, they have to classify which ring would give them the most profit. If Deimos hasn't been classified yet, he's still with all the other slaves. They don't separate them until they know which to send them to."

"What goes on during the classification?"

Wetting his dry lips in apprehension, Matheus silently and strongly contemplated his next choice of words. Giving a small shake of his head, the rogue knew the more direct approach was perhaps the best route; given Tharsis' impatient and edgy attitude regarding the entire ordeal. "Classification is routine and orderly. All slave traders know how to do it, and have gotten pretty efficient and skilled at it. It starts with rounding up all of the slaves…."

* * *

Turning to gaze around himself, Deimos had to use all his will power not to respond accordingly to his newly freed hands. Though he knew with one quick look around, his attempt of fleeing would prove not only futile but also detrimental. Standing shoulder to shoulder with two other slaves beside him, Elik to his left and the peculiar and silent human to his right, the paladin glanced down the long line of slaves. Nearly a hundred slaves total stood motionless in the same fashion as Deimos, their once bound arms hanging limply to their sides. Though the spectrum of races varied considerably, the young elf was able to distinguish several dozen blood elves that he was sure once inhabited Silvermoon.

Lifting a hand to wipe the sweat that began to form on his brow, movement in the corner of his eye drew Deimos' attention. Standing several paces away, a thick and intimidating bow already notched with an arrow resting in his grasp, an orc shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he carefully watched the paladin. Allowing his hand to drop to his side, the Sin'dorei moved his eyes from the orc with pent up frustration. He was a high risk and high payout slave; naturally he drew unwanted attention from the traders. Feeling a drip of sweat make its way down his face, Deimos scanned his eyes around the area to take in the environment.

Lush green leaves and vines hung around the small enclosure that housed the settlement. Broad trees and thriving grasses surrounded the site in every direction, the thickness of the brush obscuring any unwanted eyes from seeing the encampment. Once inside the small clearing the young elf called home for the past few days, the ground was barren save for packed down tan dirt. Lining the clearing were numerous crudely constructed huts, their shoddy craftsmanship on par to the one that housed Deimos. There was just over a handful better constructed shacks, which the paladin naturally assumed housed the traders. Based on their unique environment, the young elf deduced they were in the jungles of Strangethorn Vale.

Blinking away a drip of sweat, Deimos moved his eyes from each trader, mentally taking a count in his head. Nearly two dozen stood around the perimeter of the clearing, sharpened scimitars and weapons at the ready, though the young elf was unsure if their presence was to stop the slaves from escaping or the feral animals from attacking them. Either way, their positions made the notion of escape seem all the more distant. Not having to squint his eyes too profoundly, Deimos easily spotted the trader's situated on the tree trunks, bows and guns drawn and ready to fire if need be. Another dozen or two armed trader's patrolled inside and around the lined up slaves, each warily eyeing their products. Escape, it seemed, was not happening that day.

"Listen up!"

The booming voice slicing the silenced air with precision, Deimos turned his head in attention at the Common words. Walking in front of the row of slaves, a tall and burly human didn't bother eyeing the eager and frightened faces starring back at him. Instead, he took large and haughty strides, impatience and annoyance quickly radiating off his body in waves. Reaching the middle of the line, two tauren standing on both sides of him, the man crossed his arms arrogantly in front of his chest.

"I don't like to repeat myself, so you better listen," the man bellowed, his rough voice only causing more discomfort in the slaves, save one blood elf. "You all have two minutes to disrobe entirely. Place all your clothes on the ground in front of you, and wait for a trader to come take any jewelry you're wearing. Let's go!"

No one moved. In fact, Deimos wasn't sure if anyone breathed. While he heard the trader's loud words, his mind had a trying and difficult time comprehending just what was requested of him. Though based on the sincere lack of movement around him, the young elf doubted he wasn't alone in his lapse of comprehension. It seemed, however, that this routine was just that; routine. "C'mon ladies! This isn't the time to be embarrassed or self-conscious. Start moving!"

Before Deimos could react to the demanding order, a blur of movement on the right side of him caught his attention. Turning his head to inspect it, the young elf was taken by surprise to see the once silent and peculiar human, wide eyed and ashen white, take a leaping step forward out of the row. Having seen his fair share of bloody and trying battles, the paladin was well attuned to distinguishing when someone acted strictly from fear; and the human fell perfectly into that category. His large running strides not slowing in the least, the row of slaves looked on at the fleeing human with both envy and fright. Jealousness for not having the sheer amount of courage and drive to execute such a daring task of escape; yet frightened for the inevitable outcome.

A second movement paces in front of the paladin pulled his attention away from the fast running human. Though it seemed there was quite a few traders' pursuing him at his heels, the slave's driving force simply outran them. He barely reached one of the shabby huts they shamefully inhabited when the second movement caught Deimos' eye. Eyes widening in knowing horror, the paladin watched one of the troll traders give a rapid hand signal to the two waiting wolves at his side, the twin beasts eagerly following the order and running to catch the fleeing human with ease.

Feeling a pair of eyes on him, Deimos ripped his horrid filled gaze from the dire scene in front of him to where he felt the stare was originating from. Though the trader's barely gave the slaves adequate nutrients, they didn't hesitate when allowing the Sin'dorei to siphon mana from fel ore. It was a small reprise, but one that the paladin was quite thankful for, as the memories of withdrawal in Stormwind were still too fresh in his young mind. Straightening to his full height, Deimos locked eyes with the male human who issued the order to remove their clothes. He stood stationary, his arms still tightly crossed over his broad chest, though his face had lost the impatience on it. Instead, his head was tilted to the side, a small grin on his face, while he eyed the paladin with an arrogant and mocking glare. Narrowing his gaze in on the man, the young elf was in slight perplexity at the meaning of their silent battle.

Abruptly, several bloodcurdling and chilling screams echoed through the area, causing the slaves to freeze in horror while a flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree. Breaking eye contact to glance where the scream came from, Deimos was left mortified at what he saw. The human slave thrashed on the dirt ground while the two wolves nipped and ripped apart his flesh, the man futilely fighting against the brutal assault, while a handful of trader's stood idly watching. Ripping his stare from the revolting scene, the young elf unconsciously gazed back at the human trader; his arrogant look not wavering. However, a delicate brow slowly elevated itself, the grin on the man's face increasing its intensity. It was then that Deimos realized what the silent message the man was sending; he was daring the paladin to act.

Pursing his lips in silent anger, the paladin angrily turned his face away from the man as the screaming suddenly came to stop. Unable to bring his gaze to inspect what happened to the human slave, his stomach bile threatening to creep up his throat at knowing he was unable to aid, Deimos instead kept his eyes focused on the dirt ground before him. The meager provisions of stale bread from the morning threatened to creep up the paladin's throat at both the human's fate and his forced helplessness to offer any aid. The chilling touch of the metal collar fastened on his neck was a harsh and rough reminder at for his powerless and weak position; though the human trader seemed to bask in his hard situation.

"Bring him to first aid. We can still sell him."

The rough words echoing through the jungle air, Deimos gingerly lifted his head in curiosity at the meaning behind the order. The traverse human in command, his arms still crossed, made his way across the row of slaves, his steps having determination. Glancing just past the trader, the paladin watched in disgust as two other slaver's each retched a limp bloody arm from the mangled and prone human slave, his unconscious body coated in a thick layer of crimson blood. Swallowing back a line of crude curses, Deimos watched in repulsion as the flaccid body left pools and streaks of nearly black liquid on the dirt ground as he was roughly dragged away.

"You have a minute now! Anyone else want to join the human?"

Though the ruthless and nauseating assault on the human slave was most likely not in the trader's plan, it seemed to have a positive effect on the other slaves. Immediately, each slave in the row began to fumble with the buttons on their shirts or the buckle on their belts, fear and terror dictating their scrabbling and hurried actions. The stagnant and humid air was silent save for the sound of scuffling cloth and leather as random articles of clothing were tossed in front of the row of slaves.

Feeling a gaze inspecting him, Deimos reluctantly turned his head to the left as his hands began fingering the neck of his shirt. His curious yet still angered eyes making contact with wide and fear-filled green ones, the young elf was slightly surprised at the face looking back at him. Opening and closing his mouth, Elik's features easily radiated his frightened and anxious emotions, his white knuckled grip on the hem of his shirt alluding to as much. "What-what do we do, Deimos?"

It didn't take the paladin long to deduce why the young mage was filled with such confusion and terror; his own gaze slowly lingering on the still pooled puddles of blood in the distance. Shaking his head in slight defeat, Deimos gained a firmer grip on his shirt, allowing his stare to fall on the ground in front of him. "I don't know. Just do as you're told for now."

The words seemed to suffice Elik, the paladin seeing movement in the corner of his eye of the mage beginning to remove his shirt. Swallowing down his pride, Deimos hesitantly began pulling his own shirt over his head. The piece of clothing was spotted with dirt and debris, his sticky skin from the humid atmosphere somewhat thankful at the naked air. Tossing the shirt in front of him, the paladin took a deep and shaky breath as he knew leaving the rest of his clothing on wouldn't suffice. They wanted them completely disrobed.

Unbuckling his belt, the young elf's pointed ears picked up a stirring movement quickly approaching from the left. Sure enough, a tall undead with a stitched leather bag in his grasp approached each slave, demanding any pieces of jewelry be placed in the open sack. Shaking his head in an effort to stop the rude comments from forming, Deimos gained only a small consolation from knowing his heirloom necklace was hopefully safe in Silvermoon City; though even that thought was farfetched. Pulling the belt from the loopholes of his leather pants and tossing it unceremoniously on top of his discarded shirt, the paladin glanced up as the undead systematically approached him.

His gaunt eyes darting from Deimos' earring to the rings on his fingers, the undead jutted the bag into the Sin'dorei's chest. "Put all your jewelry in here."

Narrowing his eyes in discontent at the order, Deimos brought his fingers up to the golden hoop at the top of his pointed ear. It wasn't as if he couldn't obtain another earring; he had quite a few at home in Silvermoon as it were. Heeding to the trader's demands, ripping his belongings from him, was almost as bad as taking away his innate ability to rely on the Light. The trader's were slowly ripping apart his identity, only to leave him a faceless slave amongst the others.

Dropping the golden hoop in the bag, Deimos quickly pulled the khorium bands from his fingers only to relinquish those to the blackened sack as well. Lifting a brow at the trader, the paladin gestured to the jeweled metal collar on his neck. "You want to get this thing too? I think the jewels are worth quite a bit."

Not bothering to answer, the undead merely offered the boy a deep scowl in return, and shuffled over to the next slave in the line; who already filled the empty space where the human used to reside. Sighing to himself, Deimos was surprised to find that most movement in the line had ceased, the other slaves already standing naked with their piles of clothes in front of themselves. At the far left end of the line, the paladin picked up voices and small movements, though it was centralized. Quickly fumbling to remove his leather pants, the humid air causing the thick and unmoving material to stick to his skin, the elf successfully kicked them to land beside his other discarded clothes.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other while the voices drew closer, Deimos was sure to keep his gaze straight forward and downcast. It wasn't as if he was self-conscious about being nude in front of other males; due to living a military life he was accustomed to it. Bathing while on a campaign with the battalion was a privilege, typically finding a stream or lake to clean in with large numbers going in at a time. Biting his lower lip in annoyance and fury, the paladin's current situation left him feeling vulnerable and at their mercy; a sensation he wasn't comfortable or familiar with.

"Ok, we've got a blood elf. Long black hair, approximately six feet and a few inches."

Snapping his head up at the words, Deimos glanced to the left at the familiar voice. Standing before Elik was the human who was barking out orders, accompanied by a troll with narrowing and scrunched eyes, and a goblin with a thick notebook in his grasp, his hand scribbling away on the pages. The human had his trademark impatient and edgy stance while he eyed Elik's downcast face, the young mage's eyes fastened on the ground in front of him.

The troll walked around the unmoving and rigid elf, his gaze inspecting his body. Stopping in front of Elik, the troll gave a small shake of his head. "He's very scrawny with little muscle. Bad posture and weak legs. I see no abnormalities or evidence of illness though."

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, the human shifted his weight, his eyes not leaving Elik's unresponsive face. "How old are you?"

A beat or two passed before Elik responded, his voice shaking with the words in Common, though his gaze never left the dirt ground. "Tw-Twenty two."

The humans frowning face lit up slightly at the response. "What are your professions or training?"

Blinking rapidly at the question, the young mage still refused to bring his eyes up to meet the trader's gaze. "I'm a-a student at the academy. I'm learning, um, arcane magic-"

"A mage?"

"And-and arithmetic, history, the fine arts-"

Waving his hand in the air impatiently, the human shook his head, the frown on his face deepening. "That's enough." Heaving a deep sigh, the trader glanced down at the goblin at his side, who continued writing furiously on the notebook. "He's young. What do you think? Could we push him to Camp D?"

Releasing a puff of air in disbelief, the goblin critically gazed at Elik with disdain and contempt. "He's thin and not attractive enough. We'd get squat from D. Keep him at Camp A. They've been looking for a mage."

Nodding, the human moved forward, pulling a stamp from a pouch attached to his belt. Roughly grasping Elik's thin and limp wrist, the mage not flailing or fighting in the least, the trader slammed the stamp down on his hand, leaving behind a red symbol on the elf's ashen skin.

Not allowing his gaze to leave the human's face, Deimos watched with silent and brooding fury as the trio of traders began to shuffle over to him, the human meeting his gaze with a firm stare. Upon making eye contact, the human allowed a half grin to dance across his features, his arms releasing from their tightly crossed position. Keeping his chin up, Deimos darted his stare from the human to the troll, watching with dissatisfaction at his eyes racking up and down his body in an examining fashion. Swallowing deeply as the troll began to circle him, the young elf's stomach turning sour at the visual assessment, he instead allowed his stare to fall back on the smiling human; though it took much of his self-control not to throw at a punch at the trader.

Sparing a quick glance down at the goblin beginning to write, the human tilted his head in amusement at the paladin. "Another blood elf. Short blond hair, six feet and couple inches. A paladin."

Pursing his lips together in anger at the mocking tone the human used, Deimos took a deep breath to control himself. Watching the troll come around the front him, the tall figure nodded in thought to himself before speaking, his eyes still roaming Deimos' body. "Exceptional muscle tone. Good posture. No abnormalities or illness."

Allowing the goblin to scribble a bit on the notebook, the human lifted a brow at Deimos. "How old are you?"

Deimos gave a sinister smirk in return. "Screw off."

His head whipping to the side at the backhand that slammed across his cheek, the young elf swallowed the metallic liquid from his split lip. Setting his jaw in anger, he stood up straight and upright, his unwavering glare deepening at the taller human standing only inches from his face.

His temper flaring, the human trader spun around to face the troll, who stood silently behind him. "How old is he?"

Brows together in thought as he again raked his eyes up and down Deimos' nearly shaking form from anger, the troll gingerly and hesitantly shrugged at the irritated human. "I can't tell for sure without a more thorough exam. He's definitely not any older than one hundred."

"That doesn't do us any good." Spinning around at impressive speed, the human roughly gripped Deimos' hair with one hand while the other grasped an object on his belt. The paladin's unbound hands immediately going up to the grip in his hair, he found himself pushed to the left towards Elik, the mage's already scared gaze widening. His thrashing and fighting stilling, Deimos sighed at the familiar sensation of cold steel against his throat.

Lifting his brows while he pressed the dagger into the paladin's neck, the human addressed the frightened mage. "How old is he?"

Darting his wide eyes between Deimos' darkened face and the human's impatient and rage-filled features, Elik took a shaky breath. "Tw-twenty."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation at the mage's immediate defeat and inability to grow a backbone, Deimos heaved an angry growl while the human pushed him back to his spot in the line with a grin. Putting the dagger back to its concealed place on his hip, the trader allowed his grin to grow at the paladin's sour and bitter face. "There now, that wasn't so hard." Pausing to spare a quick look at the goblin, the human and goblin made eye contact. "Well? Think he's a good fit for Camp D?"

His burrowed and scrunched face in contemplation, the goblin offered a small nod of his head. "An attractive elfling with military training. He's the perfect slave for it."

One hand pulling a stamp from his belt while the other swiftly gripped one of Deimos' wrists, the human chuckled at the paladin's stubbornness. Immediately drawing his arm back towards his body, the young elf wasn't surprised to see the looming troll take a hostile step forward, threatening to take action should the need arise. Growling in frustration, the Sin'dorei knew, yet again, his futile actions of rebellion and revolt would be in vain. Turning his head in anger, he spitefully gave in to the tugging on his wrist, the human reveling in what he felt was a win. Slamming the stamp down on Deimos' hand, the paladin didn't even bother glancing down to acknowledge the action.

The trio of trader's moving on to the next slave in the line, the troll conducting a similar visual inspection, Deimos heard a bit of movement originating from the left of him. Leaning forward slightly and turning his head, the paladin was surprised and somewhat thankful to see a dwarf trader moving down the line, tossing pairs of shorts at each of the slaves as well as collecting their discarded clothes from the ground. At least the trader's had the decency to allow the slaves to retain some of dignity. Sending a side glance at Elik, who still had his eyes trained on the ground in front of him, it was painfully obvious the mage was not the least bit comfortable in their current situation.

Gingerly raising his hand to inspect his newly given mark, Deimos narrowed his eyes on the crimson symbol. It wasn't in any written language he was familiar with, but it seemed brief enough. It consisted of merely one symbol, the dark red ink contrasting sharply on his pale and flaxen skin. Running a finger over the dried ink, the paladin heaved a trounced and irritated sigh. The diminutive and meager window for escape was shutting at a vast speed; each minute he was forced to subdue and flatten any notion of escape hurting his chance of leaving. The thick collar around his neck and the bold red symbol on his hand was evidence enough of how small his actual chance for escape seemed. While he did leave his necklace in Murder Row in hopes of someone finding it, he had high doubts that it would allude to his current location and situation. And more doubts that someone would be able to figure out where he was or, even worse, where he was headed.

* * *

"And what happens after that?"

Running a hand over the clammy skin on the nape of his neck, Matheus shook his head while attempting to hold the firm and intense eye contact with Tharsis. Standing only a few feet from the sitting rogue, the commander refused to tear his gaze off the human while he told his account. "Well, after classification, the slaves are sent to where they're going to be put up at auction. The locations are all different."

Though the details of the classification routine were disheartening, the information ignited a great spark of optimism in Brightwing. Sparing a glance at Tharsis, taking in his stern and unyielding features, he hoped the same could be said about the commander. "How long is it between being classified and sold?"

Scrambling his brain, Matheus mutedly wished he was able to take handwritten notes during the assignment; it would have aided him much more reliably. "I can't remember if there was a distinct time frame but I do remember it wasn't very consistent. It all depends on which ring they're in and when the auctions are scheduled for."

Shaking his head at the circular logic they seemed to trap themselves in, Warren narrowed his eyes at the sitting rogue. "So without knowing what ring he's in we can't go looking for him?"

"I mean, we could look. But like I said, there're countless rings and they're spread out; Winterspring, Badlands, Tanaris, some in Outland-"

"Ok, ok, we get it," Tharsis rapidly interjected, his small sliver of patience at sitting idly for such a prolonged time quickly diminishing. They had spent the past hour hearing and interrogating the rogue for the details of the classification system, though it seemed it brought them back to where they were prior. Without the knowledge of which ring Deimos was placed in, they had very little to work with. A thought coming to mind, Tharsis keenly shifted his weight. "Where does the classification take place?"

Leaning back against the cushions, Matheus allowed his mind a second to recall. "Well, five years ago, there were two base camps where slaves were first taken; Isle of Kezan and Stranglethorn Vale."

Shaking his head in dismay and anger, Tharsis felt his blood beginning to boil with each bit of information from the rogue; more uncertainties. "And how do we know which one he's at?"

A small shrug rolling off his shoulders, Matheus felt a bit of apprehension beginning to swell in his chest at the commander's crisp tone. "Honestly, we really can't tell for sure." Seeing the darkened frown on Tharsis' face deepen menacingly, the rogue was quick to continue. "But, seeing as how he was taken from Silvermoon, I highly doubt they'd bring him to Kezan. It seems too much traveling for one slave."

Digesting the response, the sour taste in his mouth slowly dispersing, Tharsis offered a small nod while he mind was running laps. "Ok, then we'll search in Stranglethorn. Where do they keep the slaves?"

Brows together at the harsh and stern command, though he was tempted to heed to it strictly from years of conditioning, Matheus opened and closed his mouth at a loss of words. "Stranglethorn? By the time we get down there, he'll probably be gone; assuming he's finished his classification."

Standing to his feet, Warren sent a side glance at Tharsis' determined and firm face. "I agree with Tharsis. We have to search somewhere and Stranglethorn looks to be the best lead we've got. Not to mention, Theramore was raided by Horde a couple days ago. Only portals out are allowed, so getting to Kezan would take some time."

Darting his eyes between the two standing commander's in surprise, Matheus gave a reluctant and hesitant nod; though his eyes clearly showed his uncertainty. "Their camp will be in the middle of the jungle, and heavily guarded. We can't just ride around looking for it. We'll have to search from the sky."

Tilting his head to the side at the resolute answer, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest dejectfully. "I doubt goblins will lend us a blimp. So other than hijacking a Horde zeppelin, do you have any other bright ideas?"

Allowing a smirk to go across his features at the voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm, Matheus finally let his posture relax considerably. While he felt the idea of commencing their search for Deimos in Stranglethorn seemed a bit farfetched and belated, it was indeed a move in the right direction. As the only source having considerable knowledge and familiarity with the inner workings of the slave trade, the rogue felt an immense weight be dropped on his shoulders from the older men, especially Tharsis. Though he only had the pleasure of formally meeting the Sin'dorei commander a handful of occasions, which he felt were one too many meetings as it were, he longed to escape and wiggle free of the stern and unyielding stare of the blood elf. Growing up with parents who were pleasantly bemused and naïve when it came to the daily ongoings of their son, he couldn't fathom living each day with such a dominating and overbearing father.

Moving his softened gaze from Tharsis' impatient stance, to Brightwing's waiting stare, and finally Warren's questioning look, Matheus gave a strong and determined shake of his head. "We're not going to ask the goblins, we'll ask the gnomes."

The smart response not pleasing him in the least, Tharsis lifted a delicate brow in confusion, his voice displaying his growing intolerance with a crisp edge to it. "Gnomes? I was unaware they manufacture zeppelins."

Understanding dawning on him, Warren's face lit up with perception. Turning a lively and eager face to Tharsis, the human gave a small shake of his head while he promptly ignored the harsh stare bearing into him. "Better. They make flying machines. It's smaller, faster, and shouldn't be detected as easily. It's used a lot to spy on Horde activity; which is probably why you don't know about it."

Immediately sensing and physically seeing Tharsis tense up and narrow his eyes at Warren, Brightwing sprang to his feet with a clap of his hands. The turmoil and strained relationship between the two commanders no secret, the ranger-general knew it would only be a matter of time before the two began squabbling. "Great. Then we've got a plan. Where do we find a pilot and a machine?"

A half grin spreading on his face, the once despair and anguish feelings in Warren began to, albeit slowly, dissipate from his chest as each second ticked by. Though Deimos was lost somewhere, hopefully in the endless jungles of Stranglethorn, a once sketchy and shoddy plan was quickly coming together. The once sinking feeling of loss was beginning to be replaced with a meager yet strong flame of hope. "I know a pilot."

* * *

"You know how to fly? You're a reputable pilot?"

"My dexterity in aeronautics is quite capacious and comprehensive. Prior to educating myself as a mage, I was a chief technician of internal turbine mechanics and operations as well as an evaluation pilot."

Blinking hard in utter confusion as his mind slowly replayed the words the small gnome said, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Standing before the majestic Sin'dorei table in Warren's house, the blood elf commander narrowed his eyes at what he could see of the gnome. Sitting on the opposite end of the table was Lena, the tall table only allowing her eyes to be seen from those across from her. Sitting before Tharsis was Brightwing, Warren, and Matheus, each of them staring at the pink haired gnome with as much perplexity as Tharsis did. If the small mage took notice of their confusion, she didn't show it, her trademark cheerful and jovial attitude burning bright through the room.

Sending an annoyed sideways glance at Warren, somewhat harboring ill-content towards the human commander for tracking down the gnome, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh and directed his attention back to Lena. Having only a minimal amount of exposure to the interesting race, Lena in particular, he knew enough of the girl to have knowledge of the strong friendship Deimos and she had. Though her big blue eyes initially filled with water upon hearing of Deimos' capture, the gnome did a rapid flip in emotions when learning of their plan. It seemed even with the smallest of hope the mage was able to swell with optimism; a notion that left Tharsis in slight bemusement.

His mind still chewing her lighthearted words, the Sin'dorei commander narrowed his gaze on her innocent eyes. "Can you fly in Stranglethorn Vale?"

Nodding her head furiously, her pink ponytail whipping up and down, Lena face lit up with eagerness. "Of course I can. I may have to recalibrate my vertical stabilizer as well as the cold compressor in the turbine to take in account the increase in density altitude from the humidity. But a quick calculation using the atmospheric pressure and static air febricity should give the accurate exposition."

The lingering patience for the girl and her usage of words dwindling like the time, Tharsis heaved a deep and frustrated sigh. Though her face never lost its boisterous and optimistic features, the men in the room seemed to be losing their own wits with her. It seemed, to the commander, obtaining a straight answer that he would be able to comprehend would prove to be trying. Turning annoyed and irritated eyes to Warren, the human commander met his even gaze with a similar and understanding look.

Understanding passing between the two commanders, Warren deduced it was his turn to take a try at talking to the mage. With Lena in his battalion for a few years, the human had the most experience with the gnome yet still didn't feel proficient or nearly as intelligent enough to communicate effectively. "Ok Lena, you know how to fly then. Do you have a machine?"

The lively and animated nod of her head responded him. "Well, my parental units own a craft in Ironforge. Obtaining it won't be a vexation."

Nodding his head at the words, slightly uplifted at comprehending her speech, Warren turned his attention to Tharsis' impatient and keen being. "We've got everything we need. When do you want her to leave?"

Moving his green eyes over Warren's waiting and calm face, taking in his aged lines on his forehead, Tharsis allowed a beat or two to pass by in contemplation. Having known the human commander years prior on the harsh battlefields, the Sin'dorei was slightly startled at Warren's willingness to heed his orders and seek his answers. Their bickering and quarrelling having picked itself up upon meeting each other again weeks ago, it seemed Warren had the ability to see past their turmoil past for a common goal; an attribute Tharsis found himself admiring in the human.

Though he was slightly elated at the prospect of the plan commencing and moving closer to finding his son, the commander didn't expose such. Turning away from the quiet table of waiting faces, Tharsis glanced at the night sky out of the fogged window. "I'll send a regiment of soldiers to Stranglethorn tonight so they should get there by day break. In the meantime, the gnome will get the flying machine. She'll fly at dawn."


	12. Chapter 12

**Please keep in mind this story takes place _prior to Cataclysm_. Thank you for reading and being patient with me during these long periods of no updates. I'm hoping to finish up the story within the next week or two. **

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* * *

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The frigid and bitter winds the winter season offered to Silvermoon City were harsh and cruel, their whipping air abusing the elven citizens that dared to walk in its path. The broad trees and potted plants swaying to and fro from the gusts, neither refused to relinquish their branches or leaves; the magic of arcane withstanding the strong winds. The guardians patrolling the stoned streets adorned themselves in thick wool cloaks, the shape of their sharpened weapons creating an outline through the fabric. Though the winter elements were chilly and cold, the bustle of the Sin'dorei capital city was still in full swing; the citizen's not quite ready to admit defeat to the freezing season change.

Pulling his own woolen cloak tighter around himself as a strong and cruel wind whipped past his face, Tharsis kept his gaze focused straight ahead. Swiftly making his way through the serene and prominent district that housed the Spire, the commander opened and closed his fists in anticipation, his palms clammy in eagerness. It'd been two days since Lena flew over the jungle lands of Stranglethorn Vale. And two days since she reported the exact coordinates of a possible camp concealed within the depths of the humid and dense jungle. Though Tharsis was in Silvermoon the day of the expedition, he was given hourly reports from Matheus and Warren, who personally oversaw the mission. However, due to the unfortunate fact that the Sin'dorei warrior was to remain uninvolved in the affairs, the reports he received were meager and short; a sentence or two hastily scribbled across a piece of parchment. But though the communication was brief and concise, it carried the good tidings Tharsis longed to hear. Lena had found the slave camp.

Increasing his pace as the looming and intimidating palace came into view, Tharsis felt his heartbeat increase its pumping as a sense of keenness overtook his being. Though he received a report from Warren stating the gnome located the camp, the last piece of communication from the human only said they were infiltrating and raiding the area, and to expect the blood elf slaves to be ported back to Silvermoon City. No specific names or numbers were given. Shaking his head as he began to make his way up the ramp leading to the entrance of the Spire, his eyes focused on the red rug with golden trim, Tharsis tried to quell the despair and dejection that screamed from a depth within him. While the news of nearly two dozen elves returning to Silvermoon quickly spread throughout the city that day, the commander couldn't shake the foreboding and sinister feelings that threatened to surface. Almost half the Sin'dorei initially taken had been returned to their rightful home; his son just had to be there.

Not bothering to acknowledge the formal line of guardians tilting their heads in respect to Tharsis, the commander hastily made his way into the Spire, quickly taking notice to the immediate increase in activity and noise upon entering it. The foyer to the palace was both awe-inspiring and menacing, its sheer size and magnitude causing anyone to feel diminutive. A large and intricately crafted chandelier hung in the center of the large room, while three hallways emerged from the area; the corridor to the left led to the healing and priest ward while the hall on the right led to the mage and portaling wing. While those hallways were open to the general public, the third corridor was not. Situated at the far end of the foyer, the entrance to the great passageway was patrolled by four guardians, their faces as sharp and severe as the weapons they armed themselves with. The hallway leading not only to the government and military sector but also the living quarters of the Magisters and head military operatives, including Brightwing and Lor'themar; such security and precautions was necessary.

Moving his eyes towards the hall resting on the left side of the room, Tharsis swept his eyes over the dozens of Sin'dorei littering the typically quiet and calm area. The occasional benches accented with gold resting against the walls were all occupied with elves, the inhabitants' faces clearly displaying worried and uneasy emotions. Pushing past a large group of Sin'dorei, quickly seeing two female elves with tears staining their faces share a long and heart-filled embrace, the commander futilely gave a hard and forced swallow; attempting to subdue the thoughts that threatened to voice themselves. The crowd flocked to the Spire for the same reason he was there; to see if their missing child was lucky enough to be brought home. His gaze darting around the numerous faces that held similar features to the two females, he had a sinking feeling that many were left with despairing news.

His boots echoing off the wide corridor walls as he made his way down the hall towards the healing wards, Tharsis mutely noticed the crowd only thicken, as well as the rivers of tears and cries of misery. Shaking his head in small dejection at the miserable scene, the warrior was resolved to keep his gaze focused steady and forward; though he was accustomed to ignoring such emotions around him, he had a trying time doing so in his current situation. Attempting yet again to swallow the lump in his throat that refused to dissipate, he felt his small and meager grasp of optimism slipping away between his very fingers. Less than half the captured Sin'dorei slaves had been returned to their respective homes; the chances of Deimos being amongst them carried good odds.

Having spent a considerable amount of time in the healing wards himself as well as seeing to his son only recently in the wing, Tharsis easily detected when he entered the main corridor. Even if he wasn't familiar with the area, the mere density of nervous and fretting elves would have eluded him as much. While he fully expected to treat the situation simply as a business or military assembly, he felt his self-resolve and forced façade slipping away nearly as fast as his strained hope. Blindly following only the evidence of his son's necklace, he commenced a wildcard and bold strategy in a sightless attempt to find his son on only a guess of his whereabouts. And though his senses and intuition guided him in those decisions, he felt the near opposite upon standing stationary in the midst of the bustling and loud corridor.

"Tharsis!"

The calling of his name pulling him from a deep reverie, the commander snapped to attention, turning to glance at the origination of the voice. "Aldrae."

Quickly approaching Tharsis, the priest looked severely worse for wear. His cropped blond hair standing up at random angles and ends, his features seemed strained and worn, the dark circles below his eyes and pale complexion enhancing the appearance. A thick file threatening to spill stacks of papers in his grasp, Aldrae swiftly sidestepped around a group of vexed and anxious elves, giving a hand motion for the commander to follow him. "Don't mind the mess. We've been like this all morning."

Falling into step behind the older elf, Tharsis lifted a curious brow as he easily matched the quick pace the priest assumed. "Is this all for-"

"The arrival of the elfings, yeah." Aldrae impatiently finished, methodically dropping the bursting file into a hanging container outside a silk-covered doorway. Immediately commencing his movement down the corridor at a similar brisk speed, he offered the commander at his heels an exasperated look. "Word traveled fast that some random battalion stationed in Stormwind just happen to know of a location where the elflings' could have been taken too. I assume this is your doing?"

"Something like that."

Coming to an abrupt halt in before a second doorway, the thick silks and strong enchants on the room impeding any outside wanderers from seeing the ongoings of the room, the priest hastily grabbed a bulky file resting in a mounted container beside the doorway. Shaking his head with an annoyed and frustrated sigh, Aldrae darted his eyes among the dozens of eager and anxious faces littering the corridor, hoping to avoid any unwanted interaction with them. "Yeah well, thanks for that. City ordinance told the family members to wait at home until a guardian contacted them. And you can obviously see how well that worked out."

Easily detecting the sarcasm and disdain dripping in his voice, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "You mean these people don't know if their elfling's here yet?"

Quickly taking note of the last name scribbled across the front, Aldrae heaved a deep sigh as he flipped open the file. The thick stack of pages before him consisting of the particular patients past medical records, the priest had a dull notion that though it would've been extensively helpful to read through, he knew based on the sheer mount of hours before him, it simply wasn't feasible. "We're not releasing any specific names until all statements are accounted for and the elflings are medically stable."

The response not pleasing him in the least, his own eagerness and increasingly growing impatience becoming overwhelming, the commander fought back a growl of rage. "And how long will that be, Aldrae?"

A small and tired smirk growing on the side of his mouth, the priest tore his focused and determined eyes off the pages before him to glance at the commander. Taking in the warrior's impatient and edgy stance, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest, Aldrae breathed a small sigh. "I'm willing to make an exception."

His once hard and unforgiving stare yielding in the slightest, Tharsis blinked at the response as a question rolled off his tongue before he had time to consider it. "Is Deimos safe?"

Forcing himself to hold and retain the imploring eye contact with the warrior, Aldrae wet his lips as his spirits plummeted further into a deep recess in his being; a feat he felt was trying in his systematic and orderly mental wellbeing. His stomach twisting into guilt-ridden knots, the priest gave a gloomy and disheartening shake of his head. "I'm sorry, Tharsis. Deimos isn't here."

The words bringing the once loud and bustling room to a silencing halt, the only sound filling his ears his own heart pumping wildly, the commander narrowed his gaze on the priest. "Are you sure? You must have not-"

"Tharsis," the priest began, his voice assuming a crisp edge to match the elevating tone of the other elf. "I personally checked for him. Elik was returned but Deimos isn't here. I'm sorry, I really am."

Taking in a shaky and unsteady breath slowly to subdue his racking nerves, the commander tore his eyes off the sympathetic gaze staring back at him. It disgusted him. Though he wrangled to keep his innate emotions and reactions in proper check, the commander was slightly startled to find himself not experiencing a more profound retort in response to the news. While his being swirled with a mixture of frustration, anger, and misery at running into yet another road block, a small and quiet part of him had prepared himself for such. Upon walking into the Spire, he intuitively knew his son wasn't there.

"Tharsis?"

Snapping his head to the inquiring and curious voice, Tharsis spared the priest a brief glance with a blank and passive face. "If you'd excuse me."

Not bothering to see or wait for a response from the older elf, which would no doubt consist of meaningless and empty words of counterfeit encouragement, the commander spun on his heels with resolve and fortitude. Immediately assuming a hurried and quick pace, his large strides easily making it through the crowded healing corridor, he didn't dare look back at the priest or glance at the anxious faces surrounding him. His mind was muddled yet spinning a mile a minute, scenarios and possibilities of future endeavors to find his son consuming his thoughts. Though the young elf failed to present himself in this first plan, perhaps the second idea would prove successful at locating him. The whole notion of searching for the boy in Stranglethorn was farfetched and a gamble as it were; he should have been prepared for such a downcast.

Making his way out of the healing ward, Tharsis shook his head in slight dismay. Though he was determined to keep his feelings occupied with such ideas of grandeur and hope, he couldn't quite repress the quickly growing misery that was bubbling up within him. Elves that were taken before his son were safely in their respected home city, while the young paladin was still helplessly lost to the world. And while Tharsis frowned upon those who dwelled on feelings of unfairness and inequality, he couldn't stop the thoughts of ill-tidings to the Light and fate. How could an elfling that was captured with Deimos be returned while his son remained gone. The ominous and disgusting words the explained the rings of slavery ruthlessly circulating in his head, especially the assumption of which Deimos would fall under, Tharsis angrily squeezed his fists into balls.

His mind and body preoccupied with an inner turmoil, the commander hardly reacted accordingly when he harshly collided with another body. Involuntarily recoiling back from the impact, his shoulder barely registering the collision, Tharsis curiously blinked several times as he glanced at the other elf. A hand gingerly rubbing his own shoulder, Rommath's usual and familiar scowl was apparent on his features, his glare boring into the commander.

While he typically harbored aggressive feelings to the Grand Magister, though rarely voiced or acted upon such emotions, Tharsis couldn't quite suppress the growing intensity of slurs and insults his mind was conjuring. His gaze doing a quick glance over of the elf, the commander found nearly everything about him undeniably despicable and vile; from the style of his long ebony hair to his finely crafted robes. Gritting his teeth and forcing a deep swallow, Tharsis willed his body to withhold any invective language to the Magister; an action he was accustomed to after years of proper conditioning. Offering Rommath one last long glance, the commander turned his attention back to promptly exiting the grand palace.

"I'm going to check on my son. Was Deimos brought back as well?"

His strides only bringing him a mere feet distance past the Magister, Tharsis closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh of frustration at the words directed at him. While he had the ability to simply continue on his way, pretending to not notice the sneering comment addressing him, he knew it would have reprimands in the future. Slowly turning around, the commander utilized majority of his willpower and self-control to not react to the mocking and derisive set of eyes staring back him. "No, Deimos isn't here."

"Ah, a pity," Rommath began, his brows brought together in feigned concern and thought while a beat of silence passed by. "Well, we can't expect for everything to fall into place. Thankfully two dozen elflings were returned."

Feeling his cheeks flush from a muted and stirring anger at the scornful tone, Tharsis set his jaw in rage. "Thankfully."

"Indeed." Pausing, the Grand Magister offered the unmoving and rigid commander a curious and puzzled look, a strange twinkle in his eye putting Tharsis in slight unease. "It's bizarre how such a random assortment of humans were able to find the trader's camp. Especially considering majority of the slaves were Sin'dorei, and the situation was highly classified."

Sure to keep his gaze even and passive, Tharsis offered the Magister a small tilt of his head; conscious to steadily sidestep the verbal trap laid. "Perhaps you should've reiterated the importance of classification to the officer who replaced me on the mission."

The corners of his mouth twitching into a sardonic smirk, the glint in his eye still very much present, Rommath offered the solemn commander a mere nod of his head. "I would do wise not to misjudge certain officers in the future. Perhaps we can continue this conversation at a later time."

Not allowing his facial features give away his true angered and loathing emotions towards the other elf, his years of political and diplomatic dialectics dictating much of the conversation, Tharsis nodded his head. "Of course. Until then."

Unable to force himself to properly wait for the Grand Magister to give a farewell response signaling the rightful end of the conversation, the warrior briskly turned on his heels and began his fast strides toward the open entrance to the outside and frigid world. Though he could feel an eerie stare boring into his back, no doubt originating from Rommath, he couldn't bring himself to heed to several alarms sounding in his head. Born and raised in Silvermoon City, he knew the proper and suitable behaviors that were required when interacting with the group of magi; such ideals he failed to heed nor gave much consideration.

* * *

"He's definitely gone through classification."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning it's going to be hell finding him."

Growling dejectedly at the words that echoed off the bookshelves, Tharsis gave a frustrated shake of his head. Sitting at the long table in the library was Matheus and Warren on one side, with the blood elf commander resting opposite them. Upon leaving the Spire crestfallen and defeated, his spirits and optimism falling to a lower notch, Tharsis was quick to contact the two human's who aided him in the process thus far. Swallowing not only the greater part of his pride but also swelling pessimism, he sent word via a mage in Stormwind, hailing the commander and rogue to reconvene in Silvermoon for further brainstorming.

The sun threatening to dip below the horizon, the day moved without much success in locating a definite and thriving lead. Holing themselves up in the looming library, scatters of reports and maps decorated with scribbles covering the once pristine table top, the three men spent the greater portion of the day bouncing ideas and thoughts off one another. Time sincerely crunched and already dwindling, agitations with each other were elevated; the two commanders sending crisp retorts and insults across the library. And while it pained Tharsis deeply to be forced to utilize their help, a small and nearly diminutive part of him was grateful for the aid. Though he was innately suspicious and wary of the human race, past memories of treason and betrayal still fresh in his mind, the blood elf somehow found the willpower to disregard such thoughts. His son's life depended on it.

Running a tired hand over his face, his digits grazing over the stubble that developed on his chin over the past several days, he scanned his eyes over the sketched map of Azeroth. "We know he's not in Stranglethorn anymore. What are some other possibilities?"

Shaking his head in a disconsolate fashion, the lingering question a theme that dominated the entirety of the day's discussions, Matheus darted his tired and strained gaze from Warren to Tharsis. "That's only one area we knocked off the list," pausing to give a sweeping arm gesture to the map before him, the rogue continued, unable to subdue the edginess from his voice. "There're slave rings all over Azeroth to consider. And that's not even taking into account Outlands and Northrend. And we're assuming he hasn't been bought yet."

Sighing in frustration, the commander sneered at the young human's stressed response. "You think I don't know that, rogue?"

Gingerly lifting a hand in an effort to quell any further retorts from a blustered Matheus, Warren offered Tharsis a small nod of his head. Indeed, the Sin'dorei's fatigued and worn features weren't lost from a look over from the human. His face looked haggard and tired, his hair pulled back with several stands of blond hair hanging loosely from the tie. "We're back at square one. Only this time we've got less time on our side."

Blinking several times in an effort to shake his pent up rage from his being, the blood elf knew the human was right; and it killed him to admit it. Deimos had been gone for longer than anticipated and hoped, the possibility of him winding up at an auction becoming more of a reality. The mere prospect of seeing the young paladin again was a thought that seemed to be slipping through his weak grasp, the gods having other plans for them. Tharsis' heart felt heavy, his breathing seemed thick, and his mind was muddled. A decorated warrior from serving both the Horde and Alliance, he had countless ribbons and medals to showcase his triumphs and battlefield achievements. Defeat was a concept that sounded not only alien but erroneous; however it was becoming all the more apparent in the current situation.

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Tharsis released a puff of hot breath. "Do you know where all the major slave rings are located?"

Taking a minute for the question to digest, Matheus rolled his shoulders into a shrug while he racked his brain. Leaning over the map to gain a better look, he darted his eyes around the painted leather. "I wish it was that easy. My information is five years old too so it might be outdated."

"Humor me."

Scratching his messy brown mass of hair, the human slowly and reluctantly took a handful of colorful darts resting atop the map. Placing nearly a dozen between the two continents, the rogue hesitantly glanced up to see Tharsis silently inspecting the newly placed darts. "And like I said, that's not even considering Outlands and Northrend."

His green eyes solemn and somber, the blood elf moved his gaze from the numerous spread out colorful marks adorning the map, the vast distance and sheer number seeming to mock him. Shaking his head, the commander crossed his arms over his chest tightly. "Are these all the slave rings?"

"The most popular ones, yeah."

"Based on Deimos' characteristics, where is he most likely to end up?"

The question not novel or new, having been asked it days prior from the commander, Matheus still shifted his feet uncomfortably at the question. Wetting his chapped lips in anticipation, he heaved a deep and dismayed breath through his lips. "It'd be a shot in the dark, and we don't have time to take guesses anymore. We need a more definite lead."

"We don't have that luxury anymore!"

His own wits beginning to grow tired and worn of the bickering and endless discussions, the distinct lack of progress hindering his hopes for success greatly, Warren turned his glare to Tharsis' angered face. "We can't run off to some part of Azeroth hoping to find him, Tharsis. We need to think about this rationally but we need to be quick."

Opening his mouth to unleash a harsh reply, the blood elf was interrupted from a loud bang echoing through the house. The three men turning their heads curiously to the origination of the sound, the front door from the entry one room away, Tharsis lifted a curious yet irritated brow. Not expecting a visitor, nor even caring to entertain one, the mere prospect of someone seeking his audience was severely ill-timed and unwanted. The day dying into nightfall, the blind and wild chase to find his son's location couldn't spare the time for other duties. Shaking his head, the commander was about to simply forget the presence when another, more robust bang resonated through the dwelling.

Half sighing and half growling in rage and agitation, the Sin'dorei pushed the chair out from under him and swiftly made his way across the library. Pushing the layers of silk in the doorway to the foyer to the side with haste and annoyance, he quickly made his way to the front door. Mentally preparing an onslaught of crude insults to the visitor waiting on the other side of the door, Tharsis undid the locks and pulled open the thick front door with ferocity. Momentarily stunned at the familiar face staring back at him, Tharsis clamped his mouth shut in surprise.

A thick wool cloak wrapped around his thin and frail form, Elik stood wearily before Tharsis. The commander blinked several times at the boy, taking in his pale and gaunt features as well as the fatigue and exhaustion that swirled in the young mage's eyes. His long black hair styled in a similar fashion of his fathers, the typically well groomed locks seemed to lack the usual upkeep. Instead, the blood elf hastily had his hair tucked behind his pointed ears, several strands snarled and tangled.

"Elik," Tharsis began, shifting his weight at the peculiar visitor, "how can I help you?"

A sudden worried and anxious expression swept over the younger elf's face, yet his eyes were set in sheer determination and resolve. "I need to talk with you. It's about Deimos."

Not expecting the words or hard tone from the boy, Tharsis involuntarily straightened to his full height, his attention solely focused on the elf. "Deimos? Do you know something?"

Nodding his head solemnly in reply, Elik took an uneasy swallow. "I think I have some information that may help you."

Not hesitating to push the door open further, Tharsis gestured for the boy to enter the dwelling. Satisfied when the mage cleared the doorway, he gave a glance into the dusk covered city curiously before pushing the door shut. Moving towards the library, Elik closely at his heels, the commander lifted a curious brow. "Where's your father?"

His eyes momentarily flashing with anger, the mage followed Tharsis through the doorway to the library. "He doesn't know I'm here."

While the responsible and conditioned part of him felt obligated to give the youth a lecture on the importance of honesty and obedience to one's parent, the greater part of him dictated otherwise. Whatever information the mage wished to convey to him apparently needed to be done so off the Grand Magister's radar. An interesting notion, but one that he didn't have time to dwell on.

Meeting the watchful and inquisitive eyes of the two humans slowly rising to their feet in uncertainty at the new presence, Tharsis was quick to gesture to them. "Elik, this is Commander Warren Steele and Matheus Williams. They helped find the camp in Stranglethorn."

Nodding his head in quick respect and thanks to the two humans watching him, the mage turned his gaze back towards Tharsis, sure to switch his words to Common for the humans. "They took Deimos and a couple others the day before we were liberated."

Understanding dawning one him at the importance of the new blood elf, Warren felt his shoulders tense in anticipation. "Do you know where?"

Darting his gaze over to the human, Elik gave him a quick look over before answering with a grave shake of his head. "They didn't say. We were all separated into groups."

Swallowing in an effort to return moisture to his lips, Matheus nodded his head in thought. "You were already classified." Pausing in consideration, a hundred questions wanting to be voiced all at once, the rogue chose the one of most importance. "Did you get a number or a tag from the traders? Anything from them?"

His face not breaking the serious and sober expression, Elik gave a brisk nod of his head to the human. "They gave us stamps."

The three older men sharing looks of stimulation, their spirits seeming to elate at the prospect of a victorious lead, Tharsis narrowed his eager eyes on the boy. "Do you happen to remember what the stamp on Deimos looked like?"

Nodding while moving towards the table, the mage hastily grabbed a quill resting amongst the stacks of paper. Resting the tip on a frilled corner of the leather map, he paused for a moment before his hand began to move. The three other men inhabiting the room leaning closer to the table, their impatient bodies nearly shook from eagerness at the silence the enveloped the room. Their breath came in short, the only sound moving through the room came from the steel point of the quill etching across the leather.

Satisfied, Elik placed the utensil back on the table and stood back to inspect his work; the other three narrowing their eyes on the small drawing as well. An intricate inked symbol adorned the leather, the black ink freshly shining from wetness. Taking a step closer to the table, Tharsis darted his eyes around the novel and unfamiliar symbol the mage drew, his mind reeling at the possibilities.

Shaking his head in annoyance and frustration at both himself and the alien looking mark, Tharsis set his jaw as he glanced at Matheus. "I don't understand that. What does it mean?"

His heart beginning to pound more menacingly at the cruel gaze boring into him, the rogue darted his wide and anxious eyes to the black symbol, clearly at a loss of words. "I-I don't know. I've never seen it."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Warren cocked his head to the side and considered the small symbol with elaborate curves. "It's possible they have an internal language mechanism. That would ensure-"

"It's Eredun."

The small and unexpected voice tearing through the room with ferocity, the three men whipped their heads towards the origination. Their gazes staring at Elik in sheer curiosity and inquisitiveness, it was Tharsis that found his voice first. "Eredun?"

"It's the language of demons. I speak it fluently."

Lifting a curious and skeptical brow, the Sin'dorei commander regarded the young mage with a dubious and inquiring gaze. Having heard Rommath's bragging of Elik and his success in his academics, Tharsis had enough knowledge to know the boy was studying the art of arcane. For a mage to recognize the demonic language was both curious and alarming. The Grand Magister often proud of his son's possible future as a great mage and magister, perhaps Elik's ability to recognize the language was the reason for his father's absence.

Breaking the hard and questioning stare from the older Sin'dorei, Elik pointed a finger at the symbol, his digit outlining the intricate curved ink. "It doesn't translate into a word but rather letters. ' S-W-P'."

Brows up in curiosity and puzzlement, Warren sent the blood elf a perplexed gaze. "S-W-P? What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Mine said 'S-V'."

An enveloping silence sweeping over the room, the inhabitants each sat quiet and still, the recent words and news slowly digesting in their minds. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Tharsis felt his mind become over taken with resolve and fortitude, the young mage's insight and information fueling his once dwindling fire of optimism and hope of finding Deimos. Though the boy offered them more enigmas and mysteries, the group had a lead nonetheless. While the last hopeful lead failed to bring Deimos home safely, it did locate nearly half the elves that'd gone missing from Silvermoon; and consequently led to a further clue towards the paladin's whereabouts. Glancing at the worn and tired younger blood elf, Tharsis had to question the ideals that fueled Elik's intentions at helping find Deimos. The two young Sin'dorei never seeing eye to eye or harboring a decent relationship, their constant bickering notorious amongst officers and Magisters, it seemed the mage wasted little time to disclose his inside information. Going as far to sneak behind his father's back, the commander could only ponder what would lead to Elik to divulge his information for the benefit of Deimos. Either he had an ulterior motive or the two elves relationship wasn't as strained as he thought.

Eyes wide, Matheus sprang to life as a thought suddenly entered his meditative and brooding mind. The other three in the room turning their heads in attention at the hasty and swift movements, the rogue leaned over the edge of the table as he began to furiously yank the darts out of the map.

Narrowing his eyes at the colorful markers that were tossed unceremoniously on the table, Warren spared a curious glance with Tharsis. "Matheus, what are you doing?"

"'S-W-P'," he replied, finishing pulling out the pins with a sigh, "It makes sense, based on which ring we thought he'd be in."

Watching in bewilderment and growing frustration as the rogue took a step back from the map, obviously satisfied with his handiwork, Tharsis focused his gaze on him. "What makes sense?"

Outstretching his arm before him, the rogue's finger pointed to the sole red dart left protruding from the leather map. The Eastern Kingdoms was free of any markers, the southern region of Kalmindor housing the only dart on the map and the area Matheus' finger pointed at. "S-W-P. It's Steamwheedle Port. Deimos is in Tanaris."

His eyes wide at the realization of the rogue's words, Tharsis darted his gaze between the still somber faced Elik and Matheus' cocky grin. Had it been a different situation or day, he wouldn't waste a second backhanding the arrogant smirk off the human's face, but his mind was reeling too fast for him to consider such an action. His eyes focusing on the marker resting in the middle of the desert land of Tanaris, he forced a strong swallow down his throat. Though the fates were throwing obstacles and difficulties in his path, the notion of Deimos returning home safely was becoming closer to a reality.

"Tanaris?" Warren questioned the rogue uncertainly. "Are you sure the acronym can't stand for anything else? We can't afford to get this wrong."

Head shaking, the rogue's egotistical grin didn't waver in its intensity. "It's got to be Tanaris. Steamwheedle Port is goblin run and part of the trade coalition. The gladiator and sex slave ring is located there too."

Nodding his head as he digested the information, his stomach tightening at the last of the human's words, Tharsis rested his even and serious expression on Elik, who continued to remain silent. "Do you know if the portals to Theramore are open?"

Feeling the gazes of the other men focused on him, the young mage kept his eyes rested on Tharsis' beseeching face. "Not yet. I think they're opening it up next week."

"We don't have that much time." Turning his attention to Warren, the human's frowning face demonstrating his discontent at the situation as much the Sin'dorei, Tharsis' stern and grave gaze bore into him. "We need a plan."


	13. Chapter 13

The harsh and unyielding sun swept over the dry and barren desert that made up Tanaris, enveloping everything and anything in its path with its strong rays. The air stood stiff and still, the lack of a relieving breeze or gust of wind only causing the uncomfortable heat to increase all the worse. The pristine white sands were kept and unmolested; though dunes could be spotted in the distance giving evidence that an uncommon draft did occur. Scorpions and feral desert canines prowled the scorching sands, either in search of their next meal or a place to find reprise from the cruel sun. The unobstructed and clear sky was void of any clouds or reason to shield the rays, the bright blue sky nicely accenting the looming sun. Though nomadic tribes made up of trolls roamed around the harsh desert lands, they were rarely spotted by those less experienced in the ways of surviving the barren lands. Well-versed at concealing their location, such tribes were difficult to locate; though those that didn't call Tanaris home weren't inclined to test their skills against the nomads. Instead, visitors or temporary residents resided in the sparse towns and settlements that attempted to create a livable environment in the unkind atmosphere. Such places were easily countable on a single hand; their rate of activity typically less reserved and bare. However, a temporary settlement nestled amongst the mountain ridge was quite the opposite.

Void of any permanent structures or buildings, the settlement consisted of several pitched tents atop the hot sands. Their thick canvas sides showing wear from the elements of the harsh desert weather, the line of tents sat concealed behind an elevated and wooden planked stage. The large structure was the focal of point of both those visiting the settlement and those spending an extended amount of time in the area. Below the stage were makeshift wooden benches, constructed of warped planks of wood resting on chunks of unevenly cut lumber or large rocks. Though the meager settlement was bustling with activity, its temporary and provisional setting was passed off as ordinary to those that inhabited the space. Mounts of an array of different species stood to the side of the large stage, where they were tied beside a basin of dirty water.

Standing behind the stage with two burly and striking tauren positioned beside him, Deimos glanced around himself anxiously. Swallowing thickly in a poor attempt to return moisture to his thirst-stricken throat, the paladin darted his eyes around himself. A dozen other nervous and scared slaves stood feet away from him, each one looking all the more apprehensive and fearful when the goblin trader approached the group. Giving a hand gesture to one of the waiting and timid bodies, the goblin would retreat up the stairs in the back of the stage with the slave he chose. Though it was still mid-morning, their meager group had been reduced to half in a mere couple hours time. His pointed ears easily hearing the auctioneer call out the winner of the unfortunate slave that had been on display on the stage, Deimos knew at the rate the pace was moving the group would be depleted to nothing before noon.

Glancing down at his chest when the impatient and edgy goblin pointed to a troll slave standing several paces away from him, Deimos heaved a deep sigh. Clad in only a pair of ratty and worn linen shorts, the young elf wasn't the least bit surprised at the darkened tint to his skin. Though he wasn't quite sure what parts of his skin were colored due to the intense sun or the grim, having spent four days in the harsh environment. Unable to look up when he heard the slave begin to struggle against the captors forcing him up the stairs, Deimos inspected his barren chest. The once flaxen and fair hued skin was a light tan, blotches of dirt and filth spotting his front. Wetting his cracked and dry lips in hopes of retaining some moisture, the paladin knew it was futile. Though the traders were kind enough to house the slaves in a tent during the frigid nights, they were left to withstand the cruel rays and weather during the day. Only given scanty and hardly adequate provisions of water, the group of young men was left thirsty and dehydrated. His fingertips grazing across the gemmed metal collar around his neck, Deimos doubted his ability to put on a sufficient struggle or attempt of escape. Hearing the loud and boisterous auctioneer's voice continue the bidding on the ill-fated slave standing on the stage, Deimos glanced around the large and looming tauren. Cautiously standing watch close by him, the young elf didn't dare challenge the guards. His wrists were bound with a thick and strong rope, the frayed edges annoying the worn skin. The skin around his wrists was rubbed and bleeding, displaying the prolonged usage of the bindings. Exhausted, dehydrated, and weak, Deimos felt his heart plummet into his stomach. In no position to put up an ample flee, the paladin knew all thoughts of escape were futile. His unfortunate future rested ahead of him on the stage, and whoever had the biggest pocket book.

"The blood elf. Let's go."

The scratchy and intolerant voice surprising him, Deimos snapped his head up at the words. His eyes immediately resting on the other blood elf standing a few feet away, who stood still and void of emotion, the paladin knew it wasn't the other slave the goblin was addressing. Two large hands clutched his biceps, their oversized grips easily tugging him forward. Darting his gaze from the taurens' on each side of him, Deimos hesitantly eyed the irritated goblin waiting at the bottom of the rickety stairs. Hands crossed tightly across his chest, the plump and sweating trader kept his undaunted gaze on Deimos. The vice grips on his arms beginning to drag him, the young elf was forced to move his feet in front of one another; all the more closer to the stairs and his ultimate destination. Though he felt the stares from the other slaves bore into him, he didn't dare look back. His gaze was locked on the back of the stage; his head beginning to imagine what lay ahead of him.

Reaching the agitated goblin, Deimos gave a strong swallow. Though his nerves were racked and his mind was racing a mile a minute, it seemed the small trader in front of him wasn't the least bit fazed. Though, Deimos assumed, the trader considered the happenings and his actions completely business and not personal in the least. He was merely a product and a means of income to the traders; nothing more. More so, the paladin naturally assumed those sitting on the makeshift benches only feet away, where his prospective master sat, also harbored similar feelings. He was an object or item, his identity and personality weren't valued or cared for.

"Up the stairs! I don't have all day."

The rough voice from below him reaching his ears, Deimos didn't have time to react before he felt a strong force push him towards the stairs. His bare feet happily leaving the burning sands, he apprehensively placed one foot in front of the other on the stairs. His head kept bowed and eyes glued to the warped and worn wooden planks he climbed, the paladin saw out of the corner of his eye the goblin race up the stairs ahead of him. Each step he took, each stair he climbed, Deimos felt his heart begin to beat all the faster. The pumping of blood filled his ears, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. He wasn't quite sure if his body was consumed more by sheer terror or nervousness, though he could care less. His body deprived of water, he found himself unable to produce considerable sweating, though had he been given better provisions, it would have been different. Straining his hearing, Deimos heard nothing from the stage or those waiting in front of it; only the stagnant desert atmosphere filled his head. His foot landing on the stage, Deimos was both surprised and dismayed to find himself out of stairs to climb. While the staircase looked to be constructed of an adequate amount of stairs, the paladin only wished there were more to scale. Both feet standing cautiously on the splintered wood that made up the stage, the young elf hesitantly glanced up.

A gulp of air hitched inside his throat, Deimos felt his fear and panic increase tenfold. Lines of crude benches filled the front of the stage, each spot filled with a figure. His eyes dancing through the crowd, the paladin was both taken back and disgusted with the sheer number that attended. Nearly sixty bodies sat silently watching him, though he was unable to see most of them. Majority of the customers wore concealing cloaks, the hood pulled discretely over their heads. The lack of facial observance only made his nervousness increase, his body willing itself to futilely sweat, and heart beat more madly. Though he couldn't see their faces, he could sense their gazes running up and down his body; his stomach churning at the feeling.

A harsh push in the middle of his back propelled Deimos forward, his feet stumbling to gain proper footing. His bound hands fruitlessly moving in an attempt to right himself, he was fortunate enough to remain upright as he came to a stable position in the middle of the wooden stage. Had he fallen on his knees, the paladin doubted his ability to right himself with his impeded movement. Swallowing roughly as he fidgeted his weight from one foot to the other, the paladin scanned the people watching him deathly silent and still. One would soon become his master.

"This here's a blood elf paladin. Twenty years old. Bidding will start at fifty thousand."

The goblins loud and rough voice boomed through the barren desert, the words seeming to echo through Deimos' head. Darting his eyes at the nearly unmoving forms scrutinizing him, the young elf was somewhat surprised at the excessive amount the traders were asking for. A small flame of hope and optimism burned bright in his soul; perhaps no one would buy him at such a large price tag. Could it be possible? Perhaps he would remain in the settlement until the next auction occurred, buying him time to formulate an escape plan. Or perhaps the traders would simply lower the price to ensure the sale. It would be an ill-advised business move to decrease the price when there was still a chance at a trader eventually paying the costly charge.

"Seventy-five."

Deimos' breathing seemed to stop at the scratchy and gruff voice that resonated through the area. Eyeing the black hooded figure sitting in the center of the mass of customers, the young elf felt the small and minute flame douse itself; a piece of his soul seeming to die with it. A second passed, the paladin unable to tear his gaze away from the mysteriously hooded person that could prospectively hold his future.

"One hundred."

Snapping his head to the side where the second voice boomed through the still air, Deimos felt his heart rate increase significantly. Inspecting the concealed brown cloaked individual, the young elf darted his eyes back to the initial bidder. Though the situation was nerve racking and precarious, Deimos was still slightly surprised at the demeanor the customers held themselves in. Fully expecting the caliber of the clientele to be raucous and rude, he was taken by surprise to find quite the opposite. Each body sat still and quiet, the only noise emitted from the crowd came from the bidders.

"One hundred fifty."

Turning his gaze to a new voice that sounded out through the space, the bidder's identity also concealed with the aid of a hood, Deimos swallowed nervously.

"One hundred seventy."

"Two hundred."

"Two twenty five."

"Two fifty."

"Two seventy five."

"Two ninety."

Darting his eyes between the numerous voices that erupted from the crowd, the paladin felt his heart beat more rapidly in his chest with each called out bid. The morning sun burnt down on his face, his eyes blinking several times at its ferocity. His stomach churned angrily, threatening to spill its meager contents on the wooden boards.

"Three hundred."

"Three fifty."

Expecting to hear another voice fill the air in an attempt to outbid the other, Deimos was instead rewarded with a prolonged silence. Resting his eyes on the sole individual where the last bid originated from, the paladin eyed the black cloaked figure. Though he was still very much infused with fear and dread at what lay ahead of him, Deimos welcomed the disdainful and angry emotions towards the mysterious bidder. The screaming and loud silence that consumed the area only reaffirmed what he dreaded: he was looking at his new master.

"Going once!"

Unable to break his stare from the cloaked figure, Deimos gazed at the man under scrutinizing eyes. His structure lacked the mass of the orcs, tauren, and draenei yet was far too tall to be a dwarf or gnome. The bidder didn't have the looming height of the trolls; leaving its race to be either human, blood elf, night elf, or undead. Taking in the scratchy and rough voice that came from the hooded face, it seemed the logical presumption would be undead.

"Going twice!"

Narrowing his eyes at the unmoving and tranquil cloaked man, Deimos gave a small tilt of his head in puzzlement. Unable to distinguish any characteristics of the bidder, the paladin felt his nervousness increase at the idea of just what kind of slave he would be. It was well known that an arena system was established and running in Tanaris, gladiators being the focal entertainment of such a vile sport. Would he find himself in the ring, utilizing his skills as a paladin and soldier to survive yet another day? Or maybe he would be reserved for hard labor. Mines and caves littered the continent and the great mountains to the north. Perhaps he would find himself in a cavern with a mining pick in hand, exhaustively working fifteen hour days for the profit of another. Feeling a shudder rack his body, Deimos didn't want to give thought to the other possibilities.

"Sold!"

The word, though it was simple and plain, held a deeper sinister and disturbing meaning to the young paladin, who blinked several times in amazement at what had transpired. In a mere matter of minutes he was transformed from a free entity to one forced into the bounds of slavery, the sole figure withholding his freedom sitting in front of him. Time seemed to slow or nearly stop for the young Sin'dorei, who felt his intakes of breath come at a more rapid and uneven pace, incredulous and disbelieving feelings enveloping his soul. It was done.

"Come around the side for processing."

The goblins loud voice, its bored and impatient tone carrying itself with the nearly desolate wind, echoed in Deimos' ears. His eyes moving with his buyer as the figure slowly and tentatively stood up from its sitting position, heeding to the trader's request, the paladin slightly jumped as two rough and calloused hands wrapped themselves around his arms. Tearing his dubious gaze from his walking buyer, each of his steps landing on the sands with uncanny care and mindfulness as if each step was predetermined or planned, Deimos glanced at the burly tauren beginning to drag him back to the stairs behind him. Allowing the larger figure to move him towards the back of the stage, the goblin already racing down the stairs ahead of them, the young elf had to remind himself that he, too, had to walk in order to effectively move.

The sun seemed to beat down harder now as Deimos gingerly stepped down the stairs, not even flinching when his feet made a painful contact with the scorching, white sands. Licking his cracked and dried lips, he glanced down at his bound wrists as his tauren escort began to pull him towards the side of the stage. Caked in crimson dried blood and matted with filthy sand, the paladin mutely wondered if his new "master" would allow him to properly care for the wounds. However, he figured, it would entirely depend on what type of slave he was to become. If he would find himself in an arena ring, his master would most likely see to it that he was in the best of health – his winnings depended on it. But if he was merely a diminutive labor hand in a bleak mine hidden in the north, he doubted his wellbeing would be seen as substantial. However, the considerable price tag that the buyer was forced to swallow suggested his future carried much more meaning than a simple laborer. Suggesting, albeit disturbingly, that he could find himself as a more personal slave.

Hearing the exchange of voices ahead of him, Deimos hesitantly lifted his head to inspect his new surroundings as the tauren began to slow their pace. Standing several paces in front of him with two brawny and muscular kodo's was the buyer and his new master, along with two sweating and fidgeting goblins. Narrowing his gaze solely on the cloaked being, the paladin inspected and took in as much of the buyer's appearance as he could while the figure relinquished a large leather sack to one of the waiting trader's. A thick black cloak delicately constructed from primal mooncloth concealed the buyer's identity and features, though Deimos was able to deduce his privileged economic standing from the craftsmanship of the piece of clothing. Silver threading embroidered the edges of the cloak, the impressive trim shining with the bright and livid sun. Coming to a standstill within arms reach of the cloaked figure, Deimos allowed and welcomed the infused and angered feelings that threatened to spill from his being. Though he felt his physical and mental wellbeing plagued with extreme exhaustion and fatigue, he dwelled and fed on the incensed emotions that were directed at his new master.

Preparing to address the concealed figure, Deimos was instead surprised to find the being slowly turn to acknowledge his presence. Clenching his hands into tight fists as he eyed the drawn hood, silently pleading for a gust of wind to disclose his master's identity and features, the paladin was forced to eye the darkened place where a face ought to be, the obscuring hood hindering any possibility of seeing a hint of features. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other under the unyielding sun, the young elf suddenly felt immensely vulnerable and exposed, the scrutiny and unwavering glare of his master on his body, though he couldn't see it, setting him into unease. Involuntarily pulling his bound wrists in closer to his sides in a poor attempt to retain some of his dignity, though it did little to calm his nerves, Deimos nervously sent his eyes downcast as he mutely pleaded for the silent and invasive visual inspection to desist.

"I'm more than pleased to see he's so obedient and submissive."

The scratchy and rough words spoken in Common, a slight tinge of an old and worn accent lingering behind the voice reaching his ears, Deimos snapped his head up incredulously. Confused yet still angered eyes roamed the cloaked figure, the source of the disturbing words, as it slowly approached the young elf with obstinacy and purpose. Opening and closing his mouth in a poor attempt to search for the words he willed to come to mind, Deimos both physically and mentally shuddered as his master strongly gripped his shoulder and pulled him towards one of the waiting kodo's. Trying in vain to quell and suppress the nervousness and anxiety in his being, the paladin attempted to redirect his emotions more towards his anger.

Whipping his head towards the slightly taller yet slouched figure stopping in front of the large, waiting animal, Deimos set his jaw in hopes of showcasing the tenacity and firmness his father so often displayed. "I'll never submit to you."

Silently hoping his eyes flashed with the same anger and fury his wished he was replicating, the young elf forced himself to hold what he assumed was eye contact with the momentarily still figure. Several beats passed, neither of the two moving or uttering a word, the air around them seeming to thicken and condense to a standstill.

Blinking repeatedly when a gloved hand rose to delicately stroke his dirt-stained cheek, the digits moving with such grace and fluidity that Deimos' stomach began to churn with discomfort and unease. The posh and costly leather glove tickled his rough skin, the gesture seeming to disperse the preconceived emotions of courage only to give away to his true exhausted and broken spirit. The eye contact became far too heavy and strong for the young elf to bare, his gaze finding the kodo's shadow cast on the sand all the more interesting.

The caressing hand not faltering or moving from its action, Deimos was again surprised when another gloved hand took hold of his chin, slowing and delicately lifting it up in a careful manner. Forcing his parched throat to deeply swallow, the young Sin'dorei reluctantly lifted his fatigued eyes to meet the darkened and mysterious gaze from the concealed face.

"You already have."

Blinking several times at the response, the young elf found himself at a loss of words or ability to formulate a sharp or witty comeback. Instead, he acknowledged his mind's pleas for rest, his wrists cries for respite from the angry binds, and his bodies need for nourishment. The hand on his cheek stilling in its stroking motion while the other stiffly held his chin in resolute place, Deimos realized he had neither the willpower nor the energy to put up a halfway decent fight. He was tired, aching, and worn. And more distressing, he mused, not bothering to conceal his true emotions from his facial expression, he was broken.

The change in his demeanor, it seemed, didn't go unnoticed either. While the touch on his cheek was suddenly gone, the hand grasping the young elf's chin slowly and gingerly surrendered it back, its gloved digits softly grazing his skin. A deep and throaty chuckle was emitted from the cloaked figure, the paladin eyeing it in both curiosity and slight disdain. His master had won the silent and deadly battle for control and dominance, the defeat a killing blow to his weak façade of strength.

Silently watching while the concealed being rummaged around a bag hanging limply from the side of the looming kodo, Deimos shifted his weight in the sand uneasily while he waited. A beat later, the hooded figure turned back to the silent Sin'dorei, a bundle of cloth in his hands.

Brows together slightly in puzzlement, Deimos was rewarded with the cloth being tossed to him, his bound hands and lethargic muscles barely moving up in time to grasp it. Slowly unrolling the material, the scratchy voice quelled the questions plaguing his mind. "Put that on. We've got a long ride ahead of us."

Holding a cloak made of similar material to that of his master's shroud, Deimos was slightly staggered at the demand and order, though he didn't dare voice his surprise. The elements that made up Tanaris were both hostile and unreceptive, especially to those less suited to survive its environment. His skin already a light tan from the harsh sun, the young elf was grateful at the reprise from further aggravation, though he was slightly bemused from the gesture. Gingerly and slowly sweeping the cloak around his form with as much ease as his bound hands would allow, Deimos began to fumble with the khorium clasp, its shined surface glinting in the sun. Feeling a pair of eyes watching his movements, the young elf's nimble fingers successfully securing the front of the cloak in place, he dared himself to glance up to meet the imploring gaze from his hooded master. The mysterious figure stood unmoving and patient, his structure concealing any emotions or hints of thought as easily as the hood that hide his face. Feeling the gaze from the figure roaming his now cloaked body, which Deimos was more than thankful for, the paladin regardless felt his unease and discomfort increase.

Breaking the eye contact, the young elf instead tilted his head at one of the large kodo's. "Where are we going? We're not staying in Tanaris?"

The question spoken in Common seemed to accomplish what Deimos sought, his master breaking his unwavering stare from his body and swiftly approaching the paladin with purpose. Immediately one hand firmly grasped the back of the young Sin'dorei's neck, the vice grip stern and unyielding; a harsh contrast to the soft and delicate actions the figure displayed only minutes prior. Wincing slightly at the touch, though he wasn't sure if it was more mental or truly physically discomfort, Deimos stumbled slightly forward at the abrupt thrust to follow his master. If the cloaked figure took any notice, he didn't show it, instead keeping his speed steady and unwavering, the bound paladin trying to keep pace with him. Sparing several glances at the slouched figure as they walked around the kodo, Deimos was unsure how to respond to the gesture.

Stopping as the two reached a small set of crudely constructed wooden steps on the side of the kodo, the cloaked being released the young elf from his grasp and gave him a gentle push on the small of his back and gestured to the animal. "Rule number two, don't talk unless spoken too. That includes questions. Now get on."

Though the scratchy voice held an insistence and firmness that would rival even that of Tharsis, Deimos nevertheless narrowed his eyes at the hooded figure in slight loathsome yet also puzzlement. What was rule number one? Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin ascended the small set of stairs to approach the waiting kodo. While the young elf admitted submission to his master, though in his mind he felt it only temporary till he could regain his strength, it seemed the once gentle mannerisms displayed by the figure were replaced with a more directive attitude. Bringing his bound hands up to grasp the side of the saddle resting atop the larger animal, its immense chest cavity expanding with each intake of breath only to deflate with an exhale, Deimos silently willed his aching and tired muscles to comply with his wish for them to heed his commands. Feeling somewhat confident that his grip on the saddle was secure, he hoisted himself up with the use of his arm muscles and began to swing his right leg over to sit in the saddle.

Sliding completely into the saddle, each leg resting on either side of the huge animal, the paladin's feat of accomplishment was short lived. Slamming his eyes shut, his vision of the world was suddenly plunged into a state of vertigo and unsteadiness, the fast and demanding movement of mounting the kodo stealing any source of energy and strength he preserved in his body. His mind felt strangely fuzzy and dizzy, while the once typical sounds of the barren desert were voided out to nothing. All his limbs felt numb and insensitive, his hands losing their grip on the front of the saddle. The mere prospect of supporting his body felt impossible and difficult.

Unexpectedly, Deimos felt strong and steady hands grasping his left arm and shoulder, the feeling seeming to send a jolt of energy through his system and mind. His hearing returned first, the nearly silent and small gusts of wind that filled the desert occupying his mind, which shortly preceded the warmth and sensitivity of his limbs returning. Cracking his eyes open, the bright and unforgiving sun glaring down at him, Deimos hesitantly glanced to the left to spot the source of the touch. His hands beginning to fumble to replace their grasp back on the saddle to pull himself up right once again, his momentary lapse of dizziness causing him to nearly slip from the saddle, the young elf eyed the cloaked figure standing rigidly at his side, his gloved hands supporting Deimos.

The hands slowly and hesitantly removing themselves when the paladin sat upright on the animal, the shrouded figure didn't move from its position beside the mount for several beats. Feeling the presence unmoving next to him, the young elf curiously yet still unsteadily eyed the cloaked man.

The familiar scratchy and rough voice filled the air from the figure. "Are you fit to ride alone?"

Shuddering at the thought of the alternative, the feeling of the leather glove caressing his cheek still all too fresh in his mind, Deimos gave a small nod of his head. "I'm just tired."

Accepting the answer, the cloaked being grabbed at the rope bindings, giving a firm pull forward. With precise speed and determination in his movements, the figure secured the slack from the bindings to the leather saddle of the animal. Giving a small tug to test the knot, the young elf's master, satisfied with his craftsmanship, gestured to the knot. "If you plan on sleeping during the ride, this should keep you from falling off. I'm not making any stops until nightfall."

Eyeing the tethered rope to the saddle, Deimos tested the tie himself with a harder pull from his wrists. There was a distinct lack of slack from the knot to his wrist, his ability to move greatly hindered. Not to mention, the harsh pull from the bindings caused his rubbed wrists to cry out in agony as the rope plunged deeper through his skin. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, the young elf turned his gaze upwards to watch his master mount his own kodo, the animal responding to the added weight with a small exhale. Licking his dry lips, the paladin watched the figure steer his animal towards his direction until the two were nearly touching. Leaning forward to open one of the many bags that hung from the leathered saddle, the being retrieved a long rope constructed of thick material. Stringing the line through Deimos' kodos' saddle and securing a knot at the end, the cloaked figure did the same to the other side with his kodo.

Turning his gaze to rest on the cloaked figure, taking in his slouched posture, Deimos forced his throat to allow a dry swallow, his pride seeming to go down with it. "Can I ask a question?"

Immediately, the hooded head snapped to face the young elf, the response coming out instantly. "No."

Unable to suppress the heavy and frustrated sigh at the stanch answer, the young elf eyed the thick leather hide of the kodo, inspecting its grayed and cracked skin. "Just one?"

A perturbed and aggravated sigh and snarl sounded from the cloaked figure, his gaze never leaving the paladin's face, with his scratching voice coming out abrasive and impatient. "Fine. What?"

While he was given the leeway of asking one question, Deimos truthfully had nearly a million buzzing through his head, though he doubted his master would allow any more than the one. Biting his lip in quick thought, the paladin had to quickly determine which question had priority over the others. Thankfully, the decision was swift.

Turning his eyes upwards hesitantly, Deimos tilted his head to the side questioningly. "What kind of slave am I going to be? What will I be doing?"

"You get one question, not two."

Narrowing his eyes at the darkened face, silently wishing he could make eye contact with the figure, the young elf allowed a nearly silent growl to leave his lips. "What will I be doing?"

Rather than an immediate answer coming from the cloaked figure, silence was instead his reply. Several beats passed without even a sound or movement from either of them, Deimos wondering if maybe he wouldn't receive a reply at all. Beginning to open his mouth to possibly reword his question, the young elf was instead compensated with the rough voice responding. "You'll see soon enough."

The answer not what he expected nor hoped for, Deimos burrowed his brows together in dissatisfaction and discontent, feeling as though his one question allowance was wasted. Abruptly, the hooded figure gave a hard jab to his mounts side with his heel, the animal commencing a brisk walk at the action.

Bound from the rope, Deimos' kodo was forced to comply with the other, the animal easily matching the other's pace. The young elf, however, was less inclined to heed his master's will for silence. "You said I got one question. You didn't answer it!"

A sudden and strong thrust back on the reigns from the cloaked figured caused both kodo's to stop in their tracks, the being turning to face Deimos with a burning ferocity. "Rule number one, the most important rule. You're my slave. Mine. When I say to do something, you do it. When I say the conversation is over, it's over. Understood?"

For the first time, the young elf was somewhat thankful for his lightly tanned skin as his master would have a more trying time seeing his face turn scarlet with anger. The demeaning and humiliating words circulating in his head, the paladin sent his angered gaze to the side. A small part of him thankful that the conversation had ended, yet still irritated at the debasing words, he felt his kodo begin moving forward once again at a brisk and fast pace.

After a comfortable silence swept over them, Deimos hesitantly turned his gaze up to spare a sideways glance at his master. Sitting in his saddle to the left of the paladin, the being's slouched yet rigid posture sent both hatred and fear burning through the young elf's beaten spirits. Testing the bindings around his wrists with a tug, the thicken rope not yielding in the slightest, he released an exhausted and aggravated sigh past his lips. The two kodos moving across the barren and vast desert sands at an impressive speed, Deimos assumed based on his master's words they would be traveling for a lengthy period. Squinting his eyes from the harsh sun that bore down on him cruelly, he attempted to wet his cracked and moisture deprived lips.

The sky was a bright blue with not a cloud or obstacle marring its surface, the sun's rays beating down in its unobstructed path. Blinking at the far off horizon, the young elf felt his fatigued and muddled mind begin to wander. Sitting on the running kodo, dressed in only a shoddy and dirty pair of cloth shorts, Deimos wouldn't have imagined in a million years he'd wind up in such a situation. A mere half year ago he was enjoying his new found friendships and laid back living style in Stormwind City amongst the humans, where enjoying a glass of wine at the tavern was a daily ritual. Though he suffered social stigmatism and isolation from his fellow soldiers and humans, he relished the fun nights with Matheus and the lighthearted bickering with Warren. Blinking several more times in an effort to shield his eyes from the sun's strong rays, Deimos felt a lump beginning to grow in his throat.

His mount tethered to that of his master's, would he ever lay eyes on the human capital again? Would he be able to hear the auctioneer's yelling and frantic voice coupled with panicked buyers in the Trade District again? Would he be able to walk through the Keep once more, mocking the Alliance guards that shifted uncomfortably from his presence? His future unknown, the questions lingered in the air as such.

And unexpectedly, a bigger and more profound thought crossed his mind; one that overwhelmed his longing to lay his eyes on Stormwind once more. Would he be given the chance to see his father once again, or the beautiful Sin'dorei city he grew up in? The thought weighing heavily on both his heart and his mind, Deimos allowed his eyes to close as his lids began to grow heavy and tired, his body leaning forward against the immense animal's back. Attempting to swallow the lump in his throat, the effort seemingly futile, he clenched his hands tighter around saddle. Wherever he was headed, whatever his intended purpose was, he sincerely doubted it consisted of him seeing the purple and pink painted sunset of Silvermoon or the vibrant colored flowers that decorated the city. While he never harbored a warming relationship with the older Ares'mar, he couldn't help but find himself disappointed and deflated to come to the realization that his father was unable to save him. For nearly the first time in the young elf's existence, Tharsis had failed at something.

Feeling the corners of his eyes begin to tingle with a strange sensation, his body slowly succumbing to its screaming exhausted and worn state, Deimos again forced himself to swallow the lump that refused to dissipate. His hope and optimism nearly desolate, his spirit beaten as badly as his body, he knew returning to his once familiar lifestyle was becoming a far off and out of reach dream. He could only hold an empty and blind hope that whatever life his master would force upon him would be comfortable and easily adaptable. Perhaps the best attitude would be attempting to find an uncomplicated and easier transition into his newly found lot in life, rather than rebelling and fighting it. A small part of his naturally aggressive and rebellious self screaming back at such a thought, the paladin laid his forehead against the rough yet cool skin of the kodo.

The warming and suffocating collar around his neck, his muscles and body aching with every movement from the kodo, the young elf knew fighting against his captor wasn't a viable or smart option. Fatigued and beaten, he felt a humiliating tear creep down his cheek at the vulnerable and weak position he so readily accepted. Feeling cold blackness begin to creep up on his consciousness, he no longer sent a prayer to the Light; it wouldn't matter, it couldn't hear him anyways, nor would it listen even if it could. He was alone. A second stream of water slowly trailing down his dirt ridden face, he openly welcomed the black veil that swept over his consciousness, his mind and body immediately falling into deep sleep.

* * *

"Wake up."

His vision black, he turned his head slightly at the scratchy and abrasive words that barely registered in his blank and floating mind.

"Let's go. Wake up, blood elf."

Sleeping gingerly leaving his body and tired mind, Deimos slowly began to register feelings and life begin to pump through his aching limbs. Reluctantly opening his heavy lids, his brilliant green eyes swirling with fatigue and slight confusion, he hesitantly glanced around himself in puzzlement. Still laying forward on the large and now stationary kodo, the paladin's wrists were still bound tightly to the leather saddle. Slowly lifting his head, a small ache beginning to throb in his stiff neck, he blinked as he gazed around himself, a sick realization dawning on him. Fastened against a broad and thick wooden plank, other mounts surrounding him, the kodo happily drank from an immense basin of murky water while Deimos' mind slowly registered and recognized his surroundings. Shoddy buildings constructed of warped planks and cracked stucco, he took in the salt scented breeze and the sounds of crashing waves. Hearing movement to the side of him, he spared a sideways glance to confirm what he thought. Eyeing the small green goblin, Deimos deduced he was in Ratchet.

"I hope you enjoyed your nap."

The familiar rough words that sounded like sand rubbing on steel, Deimos turned his attention to his side. Sure enough, he master was standing with an impatient edge, the concealing cloak still securely in its place. His head felt strangely lightheaded and dizzy, his muscles throbbing with a harsh and sharp pain, Deimos forced himself to swallow, the action making his throat erupt into a burning and stinging pain. Glancing up at the clear dusk sky, he was slightly surprised at the lack of daylight. "It's already night fall?"

His gloved hands beginning to work the knot wrapped around the kodo's saddle, the cloaked figure offered the swaying paladin a nod. "You slept during the ride."

Attempting to wet his cracked and dried lips, the young elf wasn't surprised to find the action futile; nor did he find his scratchy voice startling. "What-what are we doing here?"

"Stopping for the night."

Not expecting an answer from his master, Deimos was somewhat elated at the short response. Watching the rope be pulled through the saddle strap, the figure simply dropping the slack to the sandy ground below, he glanced around him inquisitively. "Are we close to where we're headed?"

Taking a step back from the mount and young elf, the hooded figure offered a small nod of his head while giving a hand gesture to the boy. "We'll get there tomorrow. Can you dismount on your own?"

Watching a pair of goblin guards patrol next to them, his stomach turning to angered knots at the trade coalition emblem on their arms, Deimos offered the keen and impatient figure a brisk nod. "I'll be fine."

Eyeing the dirt ground to the side of him, his ultimate destination, the young elf couldn't deny it looked incredibly far away. Taking a deep sigh, he instead directed his attention to forcing his aching and painful muscles to comply with his orders to move. Gripping the saddle with his still bound hands, he swung his leg over the broad animal's chest cavity, and braced his legs for the impact. Releasing the saddle, his bare feet made a hard and painful contact with the ground, the impact sending a jolting twinge up his spine that traveled through his limbs. Crying out in pain, his head swimming from the soreness, he vaguely registered himself falling to his knees while the palms of his hands attempted to support himself from falling forward further. His flipping stomach refusing to tolerate the pulsing pain, Deimos felt himself begin to heave, his head feeling as though it would split in two.

Feeling two hands support his upper arms and much of his weight while he released whatever meager contents were in his stomach, Deimos was more than thankful at the presence. Releasing several dry heaves, his stomach empty of anything to throw up, he felt his diminutive energy deplete. Eyes half lidded in exhaustion and pain, the blood elf sat in the position for several beats, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath that racked his body.

The strong and secure hands not moving, if anything gripping the boy slightly harder, the rough voice filled the stagnant air. "Are you done?"

Clenching his eyes shut as a wave of nausea swept over him, his stinging throat begging for his stomach to still, Deimos allowed several seconds to pass by uninterrupted. Feeling his body begin to calm, though the throbbing ache didn't die in the least, he offered the figure crouching to his side a small nod as he slowly began to push himself back to his feet. Feeling his master's firm grip on his arms and his body brush against his side, Deimos instinctively pulled away from the figure. His body weak and tired, he was easily overpowered from the being, his unyielding grasp not wavering from the effort.

"Stop struggling. You're in no shape to fight."

Standing on unsteady and swaying feet, Deimos spared a puzzled and heated gaze at his master as the figure tossed several bags over his shoulder, sure to keep one hand fastened on the unsteady paladin's shoulder. "Where are we going?"

His free hand going back to gripping the boys other shoulder, the cloaked figure waited for two goblins to pass by before beginning a trek across the sandy ground with the paladin in tow. "The inn."

The dirt ground still resonating a mild warmth from the burning sun during the day, Deimos barely paid it any heed on his bare feet as he moved towards a large and looming building in the distance. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with convincing his unsettled stomach to remain calm and forcing his tight muscles to comply with his demands. Thankful at the steady and strong grips on his shoulders from his master walking close beside him, he didn't try to fight against the hands. The throbbing pain pulsing through his body, his face wincing with each step, he doubted his ability to walk without the aid.

"Are you ok?" The scratchy and abrasive voice asked, watching the blood elf grimace as a clenching of his leg muscle shot pain through his body.

Glancing up through his downturned head and heavy panting, Deimos was somewhat relieved to find the inn coming into a closer distance; though it did little to settle his continuously flipping stomach or aching body. "I-I'm fine."

Though their walking didn't still or lessen in the least, the figure being sure to keep their pace at an even and sure speed, the paladin found a surprising comfort as his master readjusted his grip on his shoulders and supported more of his weight. His leg giving out, Deimos stumbled forward as his bound hands instinctively flew up to right himself. The action, however, wasn't needed as the figure was quick to pull the young elf upright while still keeping their pace forward.

"_Elthom'aral._" (**Almost there**)

The voice lacking the familiar scratchiness and rasping characteristics, the whispered Thalassian filling the air, Deimos snapped his head up in surprise. Approaching the large and run down inn, pieces of stucco missing from the siding while there were gaps between the roofing shingles, the paladin moved his wide and surprised eyes around the close figure that seemed to increase their pace to a brisk walk. Blinking several times to make sure he didn't hallucinate or fabricate the words, the boy had to be sure to continue moving his feet despite his shocked state. The voice having a perfect Thalassian accent and dialect, his mind began to wonder the reasons; an Undead wouldn't be able to match its perfection without growing up with the language. Consequently, his master had to be that of a fellow blood elf, or a high elf. Considering the diminutive and meager numbers that made up the Quel'dorei, it was most likely the hunched and slouched figure was one of his own race.

The large and open doorway to the inn in front of them, Deimos didn't have time to question the peculiar and bizarre change before being roughly pushed through the threshold. Once inside the establishment, he allowed his gaze to move from his master's darkened and concealed face to spare a quick glance around himself; though there wasn't much in terms to see. The entrance was small and dirty, a worn and aged wooden desk resting against a wall with a bored goblin standing behind it. There were two wooden chairs of similar quality, the floor and walls also following suit. Assuming they'd have to properly check into the inn, Deimos was again surprised when he was yanked to the side while his master pulled him down a short corridor connected to the entrance.

The two coming to an abrupt stop before a closed warped wooden door, splinters bursting from the panes, Deimos was relieved to lean himself against the wall. His body still in excruciating and sharp pains, he couldn't seem to fathom what a blood elf would need for a slave. His chest rapidly rising and falling with each labored breath, he watched with inquisitive eyes as his master pulled a gold key from within his cloak.

"How do you know Thalassian?" Deimos asked in his native tongue as the figure began to turn the key in the etched key hole, the mechanism emitting a clicking noise.

"I'm a blood elf."

The simple reply, though it was what he suspected, left the paladin blinking curiously and puzzled at the cloaked figure. Though his head pounded in pain, he felt a flame of anger and rebellion ignite in his soul. His master pulling the key back from the door, satisfied at the doorknob turning freely, Deimos forced his tired body off the wall in preparation to enter the room as an onslaught of questions flowed freely from his mouth. "Why would a blood elf need a slave? Are you from Silvermoon? You do know that slavery is banned there, right?"

One hand pushing the door open, the figure firmly planted the second on the back of the young elf's neck, his grasp adopting a cruel vice. The doorway revealing a darkened and silent area, Deimos was caught off guard when he felt himself being propelled forward into the empty blackness before him. His bound hands flying up to catch himself as he landed painfully on his knees, the fall causing his stomach to flip threateningly and his muscles to protest in pain, he glanced around himself in both confusion and a small fear. Hearing the door behind him be slammed shut, the windowless room was enveloped in an eerie and uncanny darkness.

His eyes taking time to adjust to being plunged in blackness, Deimos felt and heard his heartbeat pound mercilessly in his chest. Though he was still burning with rage at the thought of a blood elf taking part in the vile slavery industry, he had a cold realization at his immensely vulnerable position, as well as his snide and spite questions. He was at the sole mercy and exculpation of his master. His pointed ears hearing a rough and loud scratch followed by the sound of a blazing fire, the boy clenched his eyes shut in the harsh yet bright light that erupted before his still kneeling form.

"You look like shit."

The Thalassian spoken words breaking through the stagnant and humid air as swiftly as the newly burning torch, Deimos snapped his eyes open in surprise at the familiar voice, no longer caring about the harsh light. Blinking repeatedly as he forced his still unfocused eyes to comply with his will, he gazed at the figure standing before him, the hood of his cloak pulled back to reveal the face that he longed to see. His chest swelling at the sight, Deimos darted his eyes over the pointed ears, long black hair, and matching groomed goatee.

Not caring about the physical repercussion he might feel, the young elf jumped to his feet at the recognizable and familiar face. "Phobos!"

The escalated joy and bliss at seeing his older cousin and fellow paladin standing before him was short lived. The abrupt and swift movement caused his vision to blur and his already screaming muscles to give away from his weight he forced upon them. His mind a dull hum and haze, he somewhat registered his body freely falling forward, though he couldn't will his hands to move up in an attempt to brace himself for the fall.

Surprisingly, the harsh planked floor never made a cruel impact with the him. Two strong and sturdy hands supporting his shoulders, Deimos barely noticed himself be half carried, half dragged across the threshold, his mind slowly beginning to grasp onto reality. While the edges of his vision were still plagued with shadows and darkness, he began to make out the torch-lit room and what looked to be a shoddy bed coming into focus. Blinking repeatedly as his head resonated in pain, his was thankful when the hands gently guided him to a sitting position at the edge of the bed, his aching muscles thankful for the reprise.

Head and eyes downcast, Deimos was surprised as sound suddenly began to circulate in his head; the vertigo deafening out all noise save for the rapid beats of his heart. Lips parted as he heaved his breaths in and out, he became aware of soft Thalassian words being spoken, though he had a trying time deciphering the actual meaning behind the voice. His head pounded mercilessly, his stomach rolled with sick nausea, and his muscles stung in a pulsing ache. But his once beaten and defeated spirit soared with renewed strength and vigor, his inner being ignited with disbelieving hope at knowing he was in safe hands.

The voice coming to a stop, his mind grasping a more tangible reality, Deimos turned his tired yet rejoiced eyes up to the blood elf kneeling before him with a face full of concern. "How-how did you find me?"

Satisfied at his cousin's ability to formulate a sentence and remain conscious, Phobos quickly stood to his feet with purpose and determination. Nearly a century older than the younger elf, he was a fierce and thorough soldier in Tharsis' battalion, his impressive feats as a paladin earning him an officer title of lieutenant. Quickly unclasping the cloak around his form and discarding it to the side haphazardly, the blood elf moved to a leather bag that rested on the floor. "I'll tell you later. How do you feel?"

Watching the older elf pull something small from within the bags' depths, Deimos offered him a forced yet painful shrug. "I'm ok."

Lifting a sculpted and knowing brow, Phobos sent him an unamused look. Spending an immense amount of time with Tharsis, his uncle, he was all too well accustomed to the nonchalant and routine answer. He would have answered in the same fashion. Pursing his lips together while still holding a stare with the younger elf, he lifted his hand to reveal the object he sought. Though the small inn room was illuminated by only a mere and meager torch, the small key was visible and easily recognizable regardless; Deimos' face lighting up.

Leaning in to the younger elf, Phobos fumbled to place the key into the eyehole on the metal and jeweled collar around his neck. Giving a firm and final twist of his wrist, both blood elves released a sigh of relief as the choker opened with a click and gracelessly fell on the bed without a sound. Quickly and methodically moving his hands to Deimos' wrists, Phobos swiftly untied and unwound the thick rope that was stained in spots of blood; his own stomach flipping in anger at knowing he was partially responsible.

Plucking the vile and disgusting collar up before Deimos had the chance to inspect it, Phobos offered it a critical and sickened look over before tossing it to side without much care. "Feel better?"

A small smile going across his features, Deimos openly welcomed the Light flooding into his being and soul greatly; the warming presence enveloping his soul in pleasure. While his body still ached and pained from the ailments, his soul felt more complete and whole. "Much."

"Good," Phoebos shortly replied, mentally checking that feat off his list to ensure his cousin's wellbeing. A blood knight himself, he could empathize with the young elf the horrible feeling of having the Light being ruthlessly ripped from his being, an empty and desolate shell being left behind. Though he never relinquished his grasp on the Light, it seemed Deimos had been born with a blessing most Sin'dorei paladins only dreamed of. "Take off your cloak so I can see the damage."

Grabbing a handful of bandages from within a bag while the younger elf gingerly dropped the cloak around him, Phobos turned examining eyes on him. "Where to start…"

Moving his investigative gaze from the top of the sitting elf and slowly moving down, Phobos couldn't quell the small sigh that slipped past his lips. While he was trained and had vast experience in field first aid, his meager supplies and tools would do little in terms of bringing Deimos to full health. Without taking vitals, he could easily detect a handful of maladies from a simple and quick visual inspection; some of which were out of his healing capabilities and preparation. Sitting on the edge of the crudely constructed bed, Deimos looked haggard and worn, fatigued dark circles under his glazed over eyes. Moving his gaze over the younger elf's dirt stained face, Phobos took in the several cuts and bruises that marred his skin, noting that none looked to be of consequential threat. Unfortunatey, his entire body seemed to be covered a thin layer of dirt and debris, making it slightly difficult for the older blood elf to thoroughly examine him.

Moving his eyes down, his gaze rested for a second on Deimos' bruised neck; the skin rubbed an angry red from the cruel collar. Anger and rage washing over him at whoever would force the revolting bond on his cousin, he forced himself to complete the visual inspection fully and completely before heeding such emotional responses. Eyeing his bare and dirt spotted chest, again taking a mental note of the minor and inconsequential grazes and abrasions, Phobos moved his stare down to his wrists. Tilting his head to the side as he considered the layers of skin that'd been rubbed raw, splatters of dried blood stained along his wrists and hands, the older paladin felt an angered regret at not spilling the blood of the traders in Tanaris. Whoever had fitted the ropes had obviously been careless and hasty, pulling the bonds vastly to tight, the sand filled cuts alluding to as much. While he had the supplies and ability to clean the wounds, internal care to fight any infection that could have set in would have to wait.

A small and tired smile going across his face as he watched Phobos vitally examine him with his eyes, somewhat uneasy under the visual inspection, Deimos shifted his body on the hay filled mattress. "I'm ok. I could use some sleep though."

The scratchy and strained voice pulling him from his reverie, Phobos smirked at the elf, promptly ignoring his words. "Well, you've got a nice tan, that's for sure. But you smell like shit."

"Thanks."

Disregarding the eye roll and sarcastic tone, Phobos leaned forward from his crouched position towards the other elf. Using his index finger and thumb, he quickly pinched the skin on the top Deimos' hand, a deep frowning gracing his features at the result. "And you're severely dehydrated. Did they give you any water at all?"

Gingerly nursing his newly abused skin, tempted to send a retort his cousin's way, Deimos instead chose to answer his questioning; he owed the paladin his life. "I got a little. I guess they assumed the buyers would patch us up."

A line of crude insults threatening to spill from his mouth as fury and rage swelled in his chest at his young cousin being treated in such a second rate fashion, Phobos chose to purse his lips to quell the action. Obviously worn and spent from such a trying experience, it wouldn't help Deimos in any way to hear such foul language; he needed support and aid.

Dropping the bandages on the bed beside his swaying cousin, Phobos sighed at the words he had to deliver. "Here's the bad news. You're too dehydrated to just drink water. You'd throw it up."

Taking a deep inhale of breath, somewhat prepared for the comment, Deimos offered him a stiff nod of his head. "Can I get anything to drink?"

A heavy guilt sweeping over his being at the begging and imploring tone that lingered in his cousin's voice, Phobos attempted to give him a hard and stern look. It was in utter vain, however. Deimos' face didn't attempt to conceal his desire for moisture, nor his complete trust and confidence in his cousin's ability to care for him. Sending him one last firm glance, the older paladin twisted around to grab one of the many bottles of water that he fitted himself with while mentally cursing all those that could be placed with blame. He sent death wishes to the vile and cruel traders for treating his cousin as such and berated himself for not ending their repulsive lives. He silently cursed Tharsis for allowing his elfling to end up in such a conspicuous and dangerous situation, and the threads of fate for permitting the events to fall into place. Though he generally held to his personal rule not to meddle or comment on the raising of Deimos, however much he disagreed with Tharsis' parenting style, he couldn't stop the small and unfair voice in his head that blamed his uncle. Shaking his head while he opened the reserve of water, he knew he was merely throwing fault at the easiest and most viable target.

"Here," Phobos began, his voice stern and firm, "You can drink a drop at a time. If you throw up, you'll just get more dehydrated."

The strict tone familiar to him, Deimos nodded as he watched the other elf quickly allow a small amount of water from the bottle fall into the waiting top in his hands. Thankful when Phobos offered the top to him, he brought the small metal basin to his cracked and dried lips with haste, eager to feel the much needed moisture returned to his throat. Tossing his head back, the contents of the top flooding his parched mouth, his throat immediately began to swallow, fervent to receive the small yet desired water.

Clenching his eyes shut as the small reserve moved down his arid and sore throat, Deimos couldn't stop the coughing fit that overcame his body, or the knots that twisted angrily in his stomach at the newly added content. His palms resting on his knees while he leaned forward coughing, he was mutely aware of a hand softly patting his back. The coughing aggravating his pounding head excruciatingly, he felt his stomach giving a wild and mad protest. Forcing his breaths to come in even and at a steady pace, a lifetime of mindfulness meditation aiding in the feat, Deimos was relieved to find the coughing subside.

Worriedly eyeing his cousin, fearful that perhaps the few drops of water were too much, Phobos gave a sigh of relief as the coughs desisted. "Are you ok?"

Swallowing several times, reveling in the small yet substantial moisture in his mouth, his being begging and pleading for more, Deimos nodded his head. "Yeah, thanks. When can I get more?"

Twisting the cap back on the bottle of water, Phobos sent him a hard look. "Probably not for an hour." Immediately seeing a flash of disappointment cross over the other elf's face, he was quick to continue. "Tomorrow you'll get intravenous hydration."

Brows together in slight confusion at the words, the young elf watched his cousin lean in closer while delicately picking up his abused and cut wrists. "Where are we going tomorrow?"

Moving to hold both wrists in one hand, mindful to be gentle and careful in his movements so as not to aggravate the abrasions, Phobos lightly laid his other hand atop the abused wrists. "Home."

The word, though it was simple and small, filled the young elf with such rejoice and happiness, he felt his chest swell with overwhelming joy. The word, only hours prior, was such an out of reach reality that he assumed he'd never achieve again; his new 'home' consisting of whatever slave lifestyle would be forced upon him. Vaguely noticing a dull light begin to shine under his cousin's hand and his wrists beginning to tingle, he took more notice to a large lump beginning to form in his parched and sore throat. He was going home.

Lifting his hand up to inspect his work, satisfied at the cleanse and healing spells mending the skin back to perfection, Phobos spared a quick glance up to the quiet elf. Taking in the blank and far off look in Deimos' eyes, his gaze focused to the side, the paladin spotted a small trail of moisture running down the side of his dirty cheek. Hastily sending his eyes down to the bandages that he forgotten on the bed, his hands moving up to grab them, he knew questioning his cousin for ailment's due to the tear wasn't needed. When he was given the assignment to obtain and ensure the young elf's safety and wellbeing, he was full-well prepared for such an emotional response.

"Deimos," Phobos softly began, his eyes still staying trained on the bandages as he began to tear small pieces off, "do you have any injuries that need immediate tending to?"

The words pulling him from his deep thought, the lump subsiding only slightly, Deimos turned his brilliant green eyes to meet ones of equal intensity, watching and observing him carefully. Not keen on being on the receiving end of such a concerned stare, he quickly shook his head, earning himself a pulsing pain from the action; though his euphoric state allowed him to disregard it. "How did you find me?"

Standing to his feet, his eyes narrowing on a small gash on the young elf's hairline, Phobos lightly grazed his finger over the incision, trying to determine if it required a bandage or not. "Your father."

The lump seemed to return to his throat, Deimos forcing a deep swallow in an effort to rid himself of it. So Tharsis had never ceased searching for him, despite the time and days that lapsed and seemingly desolate hope for recovering him. His bond never particularly strong and happy, he couldn't deny the past month with his father was more lighthearted and blithe than the past two decades, the commander more lenient and relaxed. Perhaps whatever caused the abrupt and startling change in his father's demeanor weeks prior also was to thank for his firm and unwavering resolve to find Deimos. And though he foolheartedly thought otherwise hours earlier, Tharsis successfully accomplished the feat of tracking him down and bringing him home.

Blinking as Phobos gently laid two fingers on the cut, a familiar whispered chant filling the room, Deimos brought his brows together in curiosity. "My father?"

"Yep. I was staying in Gadgetzan, waiting for my boat from Steamwheedle, when he contacted me."

Nodding at the words, still somewhat confused as the paladin gazed critically at his handiwork, Deimos narrowed his eyes at him. "Why were you in Gadgetzan? I thought you were in Northrend?"

A sigh of air moving past his lips, Phobos assumed a crouch as he examined a small yet dark bruise on the blood elf's abdomen. Gently probing the area, earning a small moan in protest, he stood with a frown and gestured to the bed. "Lay down. How long have you had this bruise?"

Blinking at the lack of proper response to his lingering question, Deimos gingerly complied with the demand, pushing himself onto the bed fully and slowly laying down. Though the mattress was filled with dirty and sharp bales of hay, a thin sheet and scratchy wool blanket thrown on top, he found it immensely comfortable and easy enough to lull him to sleep. His mind threatening to succumb to the comfort and ease of mind knowing his was in safe and able hands, he forced himself to consider the question directed at him. "Um… I don't really remember."

Standing over the young elf, his fingers softly probing the area in search for further internal damage, Phobos' frown deepened at the soft lump he felt at the center of the deep red bruise. Forcing himself to ignore the small moans of pain, he pressed his digits harder into the mass. Feeling it somewhat shift, he allowed his face to relax slightly; though it'd need to be taken care of by a healer as soon as possible, it wasn't life threatening quite yet.

Moving his eyes to gaze at the other scratches and bruises marring his skin, Phobos turned his mind back to the unanswered question with a small smile. "I was in Northrend. There was a slight problem getting home when I was no longer aligned with the Horde."

Grinning at the snide yet mocking tone, Deimos didn't move from his laying position as fingers began to probe a bruise on his arm. "Sorry about that."

Turning his soft and amused eyes at his cousin's face, Phobos lifted a brow. "You have no idea. We weren't exactly welcomed into any Alliance bases, and Horde were hellbent on killing us on sight."

The examining fingers putting pressure on a bruise, the young elf unthinkingly shifted his body at the uncomfortable and piercing pain that resonated from the area. Placing more concentration on remaining coherent and conscious, the blissful knowledge of going home at the forefront of his mind and the comforts of the beds lulling him to sleep, Deimos watched the other elf turn his gaze back down to his work. "Did you hear we're part of the Alliance now?"

A small scowl and frown going across his face at the eager and slight excitement that danced in his cousin's voice, Phobos spared a quick and firm glance at his face. "I did."

Brows together in confusion at the sour and grimacing features that skirted on the older paladin's face, Deimos considered the intent or meaning behind it. Perhaps his cousin was comfortable and happy with the Horde, the newly formed alignment with the Alliance would naturally displease him. Their battalion consisting entirely of Sin'dorei, the change of factions altering very little in terms of their fellow soldiers and companions, the young paladin had a difficult time deciding which faction he had preference over. While he had little experience in the Alliance, the new assimilation only months old, he could immediately identify profound differences; especially considering the diversity of races. The Horde, in his years of understanding and knowledge with the faction, seemed much more proactive in terms of tact and military movement, offering little care in terms of diplomacy if it benefited the greater good. Contrastingly, Alliance seemed keener on following political standards and decrees set in place, procedure and protocol dictating much of their timelines and decisions. Though both factions were equally productive in their own respects, the method for which they operated differed greatly.

Wincing slightly as the other elf probed a bruise on his forearm, Deimos offered his cousin a puzzled look. "Did you like fighting under the Horde flag?"

"No."

Blinking at the automatic and grumbled response, the young paladin shifted on the hay mattress and thin pillow. "So you prefer fighting for the Alliance?"

A small sigh of annoyance at the inquisitive questioning from the elf, Phobos flicked his eyes up to meet Deimos' quizzical and curious stare. "I fight under the Sin'dorei flag." The inquiring looking only deepening its intensity, the older elf was quick to continue, forcing his voice to soften considerably despite his incensed feelings on the topic. "We were betrayed by the Alliance and humans before. And now we've been betrayed by the Horde. I'll fight for the Sin'dorei and my own people."

Had he been at full health and vigor, he possibly would've argued the point with the older paladin; his own positive experiences with the humans burning bright in his mind. However, he couldn't deny the plain facts that were presented: the blood elves had been deceived by both factions in a short time span. "What are you saying? Are you stepping-"

"Deimos," Phobos began, his gaze hard and stern. Though he was typically enduring and patient with the boy, given the dire and dismal situation at hand, he couldn't bother dwindling on such matters. "Nothing has changed, other than going back to the blue and gold insignia. As with many blood elves, I'm cautious of humans."

Slowly nodding at the resolved answer, Deimos had to agree he heard that before. Weeks prior, Brightwing had mentioned it to him that many Sin'dorei weren't keen on adopting their new allies; his father and cousin apparently falling into such a category. However, he admitted that he'd also been wary of the race when first stepping foot in Stormwind City nearly a year ago. Perhaps with time and the positive experiences he had, his race would become more welcoming; as well as humans.

"They did a nice number on you," Phobos replied, removing a bandage damp with disinfectant from a long laceration on the elf's collar bone, tossing the sodden cloth to the side. "Do I even want to ask how you got into this mess?"

Smiling gratefully at the change in conversation topics, Deimos offered a small shrug of his shoulders. "Not really." Pausing as a thought came to mind, his face lit up in curiosity. "Why didn't my father come to get me? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm more than thankful you're here, but why didn't he come himself?"

Unwinding a roll of bandages constructed of hardier material, assuming the abrasion would call for such an increase in quality, Phobos glanced at him. "The portal to Theramore was down and he had no idea when your auction would take place. I was already in Gagdetzan so it was a smart choice."

"How are we getting home?"

"There's a mage meeting us here tomorrow morning. She'll port us back."

Nodding at the response, Deimos heaved a deep sigh as his body began to feel incredibly heavy and overbearing, the softness of the blanket and substandard hay mattress threatening to envelope him in a deep slumber. Void of the atrocious collar and demeaning slave lifestyle, he instead was rewarded with the prospect of home and his glorious freedom.

Eyes widening in sudden worry and thought, Deimos pushed himself up on his elbows to glance at his cousin inspecting a scabbed over wound on his shin. "Elik was taken too. We were in Stranglethorn-"

"Yeah," Phobos interrupted, nodding briskly while gently pushing the younger elf to lay flat on the bed. "I received word he was safely returned. As for the other elves at the auction with you, well, I couldn't save all of them without drawing attention to myself. You were priority – and ironically one of the most expensive and overpriced."

Smiling at the jab to his young cousin, Phobos watched him lay his head back on the pillow, not missing the grimace that passed over his face at the movement. While the external injuries weren't life threatening or severe in any fashion, he was sure there were internal maladies that possibly poised otherwise. Severe dehydration coupled with heat stroke was a nasty combination, and one that was out of his meager training of healing. Though Deimos' physique didn't seem altered or diminutive in any way, Phobos felt confident that he was malnourished as well, based on his muscle pains and lightheadedness.

About to turn his attention back to mending a dirt-filled incision on his leg, his hands froze as a sudden thought crossed his mind. Like the internal damage, his mind skirted the possibility of other potential unseen injuries; either physical or emotional.

Snapping his eyes up to consider his cousin's relaxed and eased face, Phobos softly and gracefully moved to the side of the bed to gain a better view of the elf, Deimos turning his head at the action. Blinking several times at the waiting and curious gaze looking back at him, the older elf considered the best approach. "Deimos…do you know what slave ring you were sold in?"

Brows burrowing together in puzzlement and bewilder, the elf gave a small shake of his head. "I assumed gladiator, based on the arena system in Tanaris. Why?"

Pursing his lips together at the innocent and naïve pair of eyes staring back at him, Phobos shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Sort of. It was gladiatorial and sex."

A sickening looking crossing over his features, Deimos broke the stare to gaze intently on the stitched hem of the woolen blanket.

Eyeing his cousin's downcast and aghast eyes, his anxiousness increasing at the possibility of the answer he hoped he wouldn't hear, Phobos considered his words in a delicate and fragile manner, his voice coming out soft and slow. "Deimos, I hope you understand that not all…injuries are physical. And you know you can talk to me about anything."

Unsure where his cousin was headed, the young paladin darted his skeptical and wary eyes to glance at his face.

Taking the lack of a response as a cue to continue, Phobos pushed a loose strand of hair behind his pointed ear. "I don't want you to be ashamed of anything, ok?"

Narrowing his eyes in confusion at the words, bewildered behind their intent or meaning, Deimos carefully propped himself up on his arms, mindful to move slowly. "What are you talking about?"

Sighing at again his young cousin's naitivity, his pure youthfulness shining through and showing the true elfling that he was, the older paladin knew a straight forward resolve would prove to be the best route. "Deimos, did anyone hurt you?" The blank face stared back at him; understanding not quite reaching the young elf. "Did anyone touch you…inappropriately?"

Eyes widening in shock and disgust at the question, comprehension dawning on Deimos like a crashing wave, he narrowed his eyes critically at his patiently waiting cousin. "Sick. No one…touched me…like that." Breaking as a thought came to his mind, Phobos' posture and features relaxing considerably, the young elf leaned his weight on one arm to point an accusing finger at the other elf. "Speaking of which, what the hell was up with you? I can understand putting up an act for being a buyer and all that, but what was with the touching and comments?"

Relieved and relaxed at his young cousin's preservation of his innocence and virtue, satisfied that he wasn't subjected to such trauma, Phobos allowed a small smile to grace his features. Picking up several soiled bandages from the bed, taking in the boy's tired features, he discarded the cloth to a pile on the floor. The inn room in dire need of a formal and thorough cleaning, he doubted his added trash would insult the owners of the establishment. "Yeah, I was laughing my ass off about that. You should have seen your face."

Content that his cousin seemed to be back to his normal self, the vile and revolting questions desisting, Deimos gingerly lowered himself back down to the bed. Sending a heated glare to the elf beginning to organize his supplies, the young paladin felt his tired and worn body willing him to submit to sleep, the euphoric adrenaline no longer aiding his spent being. "Thanks for that. I was worried for my ass – quite literally. I thought you were some undead with a sick fetish."

Grinning ear to ear at the annoyed voice, Phobos knew it was all in good humor. "I had to keep it interesting somehow. I just blew a huge amount of gold on you. Pay backs a bitch."

A small grin spreading on his face at the jovial words, Deimos didn't bother stifling a tired and long yawn; the other elf taking notice to such an action. He turned his head to watch the older elf wipe his hands on the front of his dark leather pants, a small pile of discarded bandages and items at his feet. "Can we leave tonight for home?"

A small yet sad smile adorning his features, Phobos considered the elf with an examining gaze. While the angry bruises and deep incisions that once painted his skin were properly seen to, he could only fathom the immense fatigue and internal pains that plagued him. While he slept during their long trek from Tanaris, he felt confident that the uncomfortable sensation of the kodo hardly supplemented as quality sleep. "The mage will be here in the morning. Get some rest."

Sighing deeply at the words, his body rejoicing at the command, Deimos keenly took a wool blanket Phobos offered in an outstretched hand. Softly and gingerly tossing it over his beaten and tired form, his dirty and soiled skin not caring at the scratchiness in the least, he slowly lowered himself back on the thin and slight pillow. While he would have complained and insulted the grim construction of the pillow a month earlier, he found the scanty and paltry article absolutely luxurious after days of sleeping on the barren ground. Though the hay mattress was lumpy and sparse in certain spots, it was a mattress nonetheless.

Wrapping the thin blanket around his form as a small chill crept over his body still only clad in the measly shorts, Deimos carefully rotated himself. His back facing the other paladin and the resonating torch glow, he eagerly closed his eyes and allowed the blissful and much needed slumber begin to overtake his consciousness. Though his head ached at his laying down position, his muscles still pulsing in pain, and his throat pleading for more moisture, his mind was gratefully tranquil and calm; the knowing prospect of going home aiding in such. In only a few hours time, he'd be laying in his own bed at home, basking in the lavish and lush comforts of his blankets and plush pillows. Though he was sure a long and lengthy lecture from his father was rightfully awaiting him, it did little to deter his firm resolve and joyousness to return home. He'd willingly take whatever lashings and punishment Tharsis would submit him too; it didn't matter. He was going home.

* * *

**Phobos, as fun of a character he is to write, is sadly not mine - he belongs to my editor, Matt711, who's in the midst of publishing his own story soon. Thanks! **


	14. Chapter 14

The arcane sconces splashing their lightening azure glow on the walls, basking the circular room in an illumination, the portaling chambers in the Sunfury Spire was filled with soft whispers. A dark red carpet strewn across the floor with intricate blue symbols drawn atop, the walls were covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves snugly packed with tightly bound books and aged scrolls, while several tables were pushed against the shelving; their surfaces littered with parchments and pages. Though the room was enveloped in a dim arcane light, a brilliant and vivid radiance flooded the area from a glowing portal in the middle of the room. The circular enchanted transport system emitting an icy azure, lustrous portal swirling of blue and white was the focal point to the handful of inhabitants occupying the room.

Standing beside the shimmering portal was an older blood elf mage, her purple silk robes billowing around her while she knelt down to inspect the cerulean glowing symbols on the carpet. Her face somber and grave, she held her vital and imperative status as a portal keeper not only in a respectful fashion but also solemn. Briskly tucking her shoulder length blond hair behind her ears, her lips began to move furiously as she whispered several securing and protective enchants while her hovering hand began to trace the large symbol in the air. It seemed the Horde portaling masters were feverously pushing and testing their defensive enchants on their portaling system, hoping to find a weak wall to break down. A self satisfied smile creeping across her features as she finished the last bonds on the portal, she knew their feats and searching would be in vain; she rightfully earned her title.

Content at the extra defensive spells set in place, the gleaming and unyielding symbols showcasing as much, the blood elf pushed herself to her feet with a relaxed and relieved sigh. Glancing at her colleague standing over a desk , his face contorted into concentration and thought as his eyes moved over a piece of paper, she was mutely glad for the slow day. Only a few days ago the portaling chambers were buzzing with excitement and bustling activity, the newly arrived missing elflings coming through the portal. Though their facility was designed to transport such a large party, the two masters had to be sure the defensives and shielding spells didn't waver in their intensity or power; the security and safety of Silvermoon's citizens relied on it. While the occasional mage or traveler would pass through the glowing circle, the leisurely bustle allowed the masters to complete the immense and growing piles of paperwork and ensure the spells on the portal were secure.

A string of whispered words in Common echoing through the nearly silent chambers, the mage turned her head to consider the source.

Leaning against the bookshelves were two males, one human while the other was a fellow Sin'dorei; and one she immediately recognized. Arms crossed tightly over his broad chest, Halduron Brightwing spared a side glance at the human standing beside him before responding in a short whisper. The two men weren't new visitors to the portaling master, she'd seen them at least once a day in the past couple days. There was sometimes a second younger human that accompanied them, however it seemed he was absent that day. Though they arrived in the chambers at a ghastly hour in the morning, their eager and keen eyes darting around the room while they impatiently waited, they rarely stayed longer past noon. Often whispering and muttering to each other, their faces full of concern and worry, the woman knew they had a right for the anxiety.

Moving her gaze to the third visitor in the room, the mage couldn't stop the sad sigh and smile that moved across her face. Leaning against a table in the same fashion as the other men, Tharsis Ares'mar situated himself closest to the glowing portal – a position he assumed for the past few days. While he arrived with the other two men, the commander stubbornly refused to leave the chambers despite the other's futilely trying to convince him otherwise. Leaving for short periods of time throughout the day, he was quick to come back to the room, gluing his eyes on the portal in high hopes for the presence he longed to see. Tilting her head to the side while she considered the man, the mage knew who he sought, her heart going out to him. Only two dozen elflings were returned to their rightful and respective homes – his son wasn't among them.

"Where's Matheus today?" Brightwing whispered to Warren Steele standing next to him as he shifted his weight, eyeing the portal in slight disdain. Over the course of the past few days, he developed a passive hate for the transport system, his soul begging to see a particular blood elf step through.

"At a meeting with SI:7," Warren began, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "He was pissed he couldn't get out if it."

Nodding at the words, the blood elf darted his eyes at the clock nestled on a table amongst the parchment. The placement of the golden hands telling him how late the morning was getting, he had to subdue a small growl that tempted to sweep past his lips. "He's a good friend. Today isn't looking like a good day either though. It's getting late."

Flicking his own eyes to the clock, Warren felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Brightwing was right; the morning was dying fast – as was the prospect of seeing Deimos that day. The written orders to Phobos and the oral commands to Lena echoing in his head, he had low hopes for the return of the boy within the next few hours. Sending word to Phobos to retrieve the young elf in any safe fashion and to ensure his wellbeing, the gnome mage teleported to Theramore the same day; happily finding the allowance of only mage activity allowed in the human city. The orders were explicit: Lena was to meet the two blood elves at the inn in Ratchet first thing in the morning and immediately port back to Silvermoon.

Darting his eyes over to the silent and brooding blood elf a short distance away from them, Warren felt his spirits deplete further at the blank look on Tharsis face. "I'd hate to bring this up but how many days do we give the blood elf?"

Taking a deep inhale of breath at the ominous question, Brightwing wouldn't deny he wondered the same thing. "I'm not sure. I guess until we hear from Phobos or Lena next."

Pursing his lips at the simple answer, the human knew he couldn't demand any more from his friend. Both were itching with anxiety and apprehension, the excruciating wait of the unknown ebbing away their patient facades. Surprisingly, Warren shockingly admitted that it was neither of them that seemed the utmost worried or vexed as they wearyingly stood in the portaling chambers waiting. Slowly moving his gaze from the glimmering yet bleak port, the man rested his eyes on the Sin'dorei commander. Regardless of his pleas and forced words of assurance, Tharsis obstinately refused to leave the chambers in high hopes of his son arriving at an unscheduled time. Though Brightwing was quick to point out that Phobos was one to follow orders and procedure, it did little to deter the firm and unwavering resolve in the elf. Leaving only a handful of occasions throughout the day, Tharsis was sure to assume his stiff and unyielding stance in the room, his steadfast gaze unmoving from the portal.

Feeling a pair of eyes burning into him, Tharsis forced his gaze from the portal to inspect the source. Meeting the level and blank stare of Warren, he held the look for a second before turning his attention back to the swirling mist he was so accustomed to. His mind was solely dominated and focused on the annoying and obstinate portal, his inner self willing that damned thing to shimmer with life and display the blood elf he waited so patiently for. And while he typically wasn't a tolerant or enduring person, he used all his self control to do so. The long and grueling hours of waiting not quite enough to deter his determination and fortitude, Tharsis vowed to keep a watchful eye on the portal.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the commander still held onto a strong and burning hope that Deimos would arrive at any moment, simply waiting for the familiar increase in illumination preceding his arrival. The order hastily sent to his nephew days ago and receiving a complying response back, Tharsis was slightly frustrated at the sincere lack of further correspondence from his lieutenant. While he had full confident in Phobos' abilities, the paladin rightfully earning his officer rank, the taxing and difficult unknown of the situation placed him in an uncanny situation. For the past two decades, the commander controlled nearly all aspects that concerned his son's life and wellbeing, the past few months being the break in the habit. First beginning with his juvenile and fool escapades in Stormwind City, Tharsis had hoped to gain a better control and grasp on the boy upon demanding him home. And once it seemed he not only directed Deimos' life but also began to reevaluate and construct their shaky relationship, the young elf was ruthlessly ripped away once again.

The quick whispers reaching his pointed ears, Tharsis easily disregarded the two other men sharing words. Though he still loathed the human race with a great intensity, he couldn't deny the immense and unparalleled help Warren and Matheus offered him in locating Deimos. Sadly, he had to come to terms that by utilizing a vast amount of outside assistance he was able to get this close to bringing his son home. Living by a personal decree to oversee or complete tasks first hand, accepting and relying on the help as blindly as he did felt foreign and bizarre; especially by others not Sin'dorei.

Seeing movement in the corner of his view, Brightwing and Warren fidgeting their stances impatiently, Tharsis conditionally assumed the morning was growing late and the two men would take their leave. Of course, they would saunter over and attempt to convince him to depart with them, though each knew the answer to such pleas. His eyes slowly moving down to the scarlet shag carpet in deep thought, Tharsis couldn't quite bring himself to leave the chambers during the daylight. While he'd go home for rest at the late hours, he was sure to stand watch during the day. He'd wait for the return of his son, ensure he was in a state of wellbeing, then promptly commence a long and lengthy lecture on their way to the healing ward. Having a great deal of time to ponder the future actions, the commander had already worked out how the discussion and lecture would pan out.

Naturally, the boy would be quiet and silent, either from proper obedience or pure fatigue, for the duration of the lecture. His mind wishing to start the speech in several different routes, the commander was resolved to first express his sincere disappointment and displeasure with him, the paladin plainly disrespecting his rule to not walk into Murder Row. Seeing the turn out in his thinking mind, Tharsis could already picture Deimos' fallen and saddened features at the words, knowing his son's burning desire to consistently please him and gain his acceptance would be the ultimate source for a debasing punishment. Upon ensuring the boy had a clear understanding of how incensed he was, the elder Sin'dorei decided he would then begin his crisp and stern lecture of how stupid and thick his son could be at times, obviously disregarding not only his own wellbeing but also Elik's with his faulty and dire behaviors. Hopefully reaching the healing ward while in the midst of that portion of the lecture, he assumed the remainder of the punishment would have to wait till after Deimos was brought to full health.

One thing was for certain: after the past week of inadequate sleep and the vast amount of hours of anxiety and anticipation, Tharsis had full intent to make it clear how much of a hassle the ordeal had been.

"Ah ha! I had cognizance that the last subdivision of the ritual was my preconceived notion. Well no matter, we've arrived with inconsequential grazes."

"You brought us to Darnassus."

"The differing words between the two metropolises are quite homogenous in the portaling ritual. And are you acquainted with the knowledge that Sin'dorei and Kin'dorei share a venerable blood line?"

The two voices filling the once near silent chambers with a strident and loud resonating noise, Tharsis snapped his head up in attention at the familiarity. Though his body was beginning to feel the repercussions of his sleep disruptions, he felt a boisterous and vigor energy drive itself through his limbs and system, his adrenaline pumping hard in his veins. Moving his gaze up, the commander first laid eyes on the source of the duo of voices, his heart beginning to pump harder in recognition and fulfilled hope.

Standing beside one another, Phobos' frustrated and irritated stance showcased his sincere annoyance at the small mage next to him. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, the lieutenant sent a heated and incensed glare to Lena, who innocently gazed back with wide blue eyes. While her counterpart felt wronged in some fashion, her trademark wide smile and cheerful expression didn't waver in its strong intensity and strength. Moving his eyes from the two having a silent staring battle, Tharsis darted his gaze to the third presence, his breath hitching in throat at the vision.

Wearing a black cloak accented with silver trim, the edges stained in brown dirt and sand, Deimos stood off set from the gnome and older paladin, his position slightly to the side of the glimmering portal. Arms hanging flaccidly at his sides, the boy didn't seem to take much heed or notice to the bickering beside him, his gaze darting around the room in an examining manner. Pushing himself off the table and standing to his full height, his mind fully attentive, Tharsis systematically scanned his eyes down his son's body; a subconscious and paltry paternal instinct taking precedent over his disbelief. Though the concealing and darkened cloak covered the paladin's body, the commander was quick to take notice of the fatigued facial features, grim coated hair, and few abrasions marking his dirt stained face. Though the tiredness swirling in his emerald eyes and slight sway to his stance was disheartening in the least, it did little to extinguish the swelling relief and contentment in Tharsis at seeing Deimos standing before him.

His attention solely focused on his son, Tharsis surprisingly became aware of himself unknowingly walking forward towards him. His movements pulling the silent and spent paladin's attention, the commander felt his feet turn to lead and his muscles knot themselves up as a pair of similar green eyes turned to meet his stunned gaze. Both standing unmoving and stationary , their eyes sharing a small exchange of silent words, the elder felt his mind beginning to go numb and blank, his predetermined and fixed lecture escaping his thoughts at the face he longed to see.

Forcing his throat to swallow the growing immense lump in his sore and parched throat, Deimos kept his tired and worn gaze on his father standing a mere few feet before him. Upon Lena meeting the two paladins at the inn, claiming she was conducting the ritual to Silvermoon City, the trio were displeased and quite surprised to find themselves in the lustrous capital of the Night Elves, the blood elves immediately taking a defensive stance. Though the two races were officially aligned, a lifetime of conditioning to despise and loathe the Kin'dorei dominated much of their minds and actions, Phobos regretfully getting into a verbal altercation with the portaling master. Admitting she never successfully accomplished a portal to Silvermoon, Lena was resolved to find the issue with her ritual and to the reason behind the ill-attempted portal. Though she claimed it would only take a mere minute, the blood elves were forced to impatiently wait for several hours.

Trying to wet his cracked lips coated in dried blood and grainy sand, the infuriating lack of moisture making the action futile, Deimos considered his father waiting before him. Logically the elder Sin'dorei would be quick to commence a long winded and demeaning lecture, a notion that made the young elf's spirits drop only slightly. He'd been prepared for such. However, the significant and uncanny silence billowing between them, the paladin was quick to capitalize on it. Perhaps if he could get in a sincere and brisk apology, his father would be willing to condense his punishment.

Taking an unsteady step towards the waiting commander, Deimos felt his resolve quickly slipping away as he gazed into the other elf's face. "_Ann'da_…I know what I did-I was stupid. I'm sorry."

His throat raspy and abrasive, the words came out as such. Tharsis, however, simply blinked at him, the shaky words not registering on his solemn face. His chest rising and falling heavily several times while he forced his respiration to calm, Deimos briefly considered taking another try at the swift apology; though he had a notion his words would have little to deter the inevitable punishment. Upon being kidnapped and dragged all over Azeroth, he could only fathom the trouble the commander went through to track him down and ensure his safe return. In the past twenty years, he could only recollect doing a handful of more foolish actions as well as the swift and harsh lecture that quickly followed. Though he assumed the elder elf would allow the healers to bring him to full health before beginning a physical reprimand, he knew a verbal lecture would be quick to commence.

Beginning to open his mouth to voice yet another apology or explanation, Deimos was caught offguard when his grave faced father moved with precise and quick movement before him. Had he been fully rested and restored, the paladin might have flinched or moved out of the way of the commander, though his body simply wasn't heeding to his reflexes. Instead, he was both dismayed and surprised to find his limbs unresponsive and unmoving at the quick movement before him. Expecting a harsh backhand or perhaps a vice grip to his arm, Tharsis' action left the young elf shocked.

Strong and firm arms wrapping around his frame, Deimos was left speechless at the tight and unyielding embrace from his father. A large lump unexpectedly forming in his throat, he repeatedly swallowed in a poor attempt to rid the effects he felt creeping up on his spent body. Though the elf opposite him was sturdy and secure, he felt his calm façade dissolve to nearly nothing at the protecting and soothing hug. His chest swelling with a bustle of strong emotions, the young elf no longer harbored the strength or energy to keep them in check, his eyes beginning to sting and the lump in his throat increasing.

Mutely aware of a soft wetness on his cheeks, Deimos eagerly returned the embrace, his mind and soul relishing the soothing sensation that blanketed him. While he felt weak, tired, and worn, the elder elf before him was the near opposite; his presence both mentally and physically empowering. Closing his eyes at the warming feelings of being secure and protected, notions he sincerely lacked in the past week, Deimos allowed several streams of water to cascade down his face. He was home and safe.

The warming and strong embrace quickly breaking, Deimos blinked as Tharsis' face came into focus; the elder Sin'dorei pulling away with a resolute and concerned look on his face. Resting his heavy hands on top of the paladin's shoulders, his gaze darting over the fatigued elf, the commander released a deep yet relieved breath of air as he considered the shorter elf. "How do you feel?"

The arcane lights glistening off the moisture on his cheeks, Deimos took a shaky and unsteady swallow, his soul still soaring in pure bliss at the security, though his voice was uneven and trembling. "Ok. I'm pretty tired."

His face darkening for a beat, Tharsis didn't have to call the boy out on his fib to know the truth. Allowing his gaze to firm significantly, he increased his grasp on the paladin similarly. "Do not ever do this again."

His breathing coming in at a more level and even pace, Deimos nodded his head briskly at the words; slightly surprised at the atypical smoothness to the tone. "I won't."

The quiet and tremulous response doing little in terms of calming his nerves, his mind unable to remember what he wanted to say to his son, Tharsis found his actions and words dominated by a much more subconscious and bizarre part of him. Narrowing his gaze in on shorter elf's face, he didn't spare much attention to the other presences in the room. "When I explicitly tell you not to go somewhere, you best follow my orders to perfection from now on. Am I understood, Deimos?"

Forcing a heavy and large swallow at the strict words, Deimos quickly offered a nod of his head in reply. Staring back at his rigid and stern father, the young elf would swear that while the voice was severe and exacting, he depicted strains of concern and anxiety in the tone; a pairing that seemed alien yet promising coming from the commander.

Sighing as the forceful grasps on his shoulders were lifted, Deimos spared a curious glance to the side when gentle whispered voices reached his pointed ears. His face relaxed and calm, Warren gingerly knelt down to the short level of the gnome, the two exchanging quick words of pleasantries before Lena offered the commander an explanation for their belatedness. Moving his tired gaze from the duo, the young elf rested his eyes on the second source of voices emitting from two Sin'dorei standing beside the doorway. His tone significantly quieter than the human and gnome, Brightwing softly exchanged words with a calmer looking Phobos, his cousin nodding his head briskly every so often. His watchful gaze moving over his cousin's rigid and firm stance, Deimos felt a small smile grace his feature. While he had no reservation or doubt that the driving energy behind his rescue was credited to his father's unyielding resolve, it seemed it encumbered a vast number of individuals. Though he didn't know the full extent of the search party or what it entailed, he could only fathom the troubles his friends and family were forced to endure.

A strong yet tender grip on his shoulder ripping him from his reverie, Deimos snapped his attention to his father.

His hand not releasing his grasp on the boy, Tharsis brought his other to gesture to the doorway to the portaling chambers. "Let's get you to the priests. I assume Phobos treated you last night?"

Nodding at the words, his meager reserve of energy in his body dwindling fast, the young elf gingerly and delicately followed his father across the threshold, the grip on his shoulder offering meager support. "Yeah. I'm just really tired and thirsty. Maybe I could go home tonight."

"You'll stay in the healing wards as long as the priests deem fit."

Struggling with himself not to roll his eyes at the exasperating and frustrating words, Deimos had a small inclination that the elder elf would be steadfast and obstinate in his fortitude. And yet, the paladin couldn't quite bring himself to fullheartedly grow incensed with his father's stubbornness. The typically overbearing and dominating decree, strangely enough, filled the young elf with a sense of warming security and blanketing safety; sensations he longed to feel for days. Perhaps more uncanny, he couldn't quite subdue the warmth at knowing who the emotions emitted from.

Watching Tharsis pull back the silks in the doorway with his free hand to the side, Deimos felt an intense and observing gaze bore into him. Snapping his jade eyes to the source standing several paces away, he felt a small grin creep on the corners of his mouth. Staring back at him, his own knowing smile beaming on his face, was Brightwing. His gaze locked on the ranger-generals grinning and restful features, Deimos had to remind himself to begin walking beside his father through the doorway. Giving a small yet revering nod of his head at the young elf, Brightwing's eloquent and shrewd grin didn't waver in its intensity.

Blinking at the gesture, Deimos wasn't allowed much time or attention to consider to the elder elf, Tharsis' firm and steady grip keeping him moving forward. His bare feet not making a sound on the polished shining marble floor, he silently walked beside his father down an immense and elaborately crafted corridor. Spending a vast amount of time in the Sin'dorei palace, the young paladin was grossly acclimated to the lush and intimidating feel the Spire offered to the inhabitants that ventured its halls. Strangely enough, however, he found his eye catching the smallest and minute details; the intricate woodwork in the arches or the pattern of golden accents on the benches. Though the aspects hadn't been touched since he could remember, he savored the beautiful Sin'dorei architecture and impressive designs.

While the hand on his shoulder ought to have sparked a sense of panic or fright at the uncanny close proximity of the commander, years of harsh and debasing punishments dictating as much, Deimos found himself leaning into the touch. His fatigued mind relishing and savoring the sense of protection, his body was slightly thankful for the aid in support.

* * *

The days in the Sin'dorei capital were beginning to get shorter, the sun retiring behind the purple and blue horizon at an earlier hour only to blanket the city in whispered darkness. Accompanying the change was also a steady drop of temperature, the harsh elements of winter encompassing the metropolis and the citizens unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire. Thick wool cloaks were seen on nearly all the elves bustling about the cobblestoned streets, the city guardians adorning themselves in similar regalia in an effort to shield themselves from the frigid winds.

Snapping his gaze up as a loud hum of wind crashed into the side of the house, Tharsis was ripped from his thoughtful reverie. Blinking in surprise at the disruption as he craned his neck to glance out the window, he wasn't the least surprised to find the trees outside standing tall and strong. The tough enchants on their limbs and leaves would protect their integrity from the severe elements. The hovering pots of a mixture of colorful flora didn't waver or shake in the wind, the fervent flow of arcane holding their steadfast strength.

Sighing at allowing the random noise interrupt his work, Tharsis glanced down at the stack of papers before him. An increase of Horde activity surrounding Dustwallow Marsh had seemed to draw attention from several Alliance officers, their reports pleading for assistance in the matter. Theramore still recovering from the unexpected and dire raid only weeks prior, the Alliance regime stationed in the region were naturally weary and cautious, their diminutive numbers heeding such. Though Tharsis displayed his passive reluctance to consider deploying the company on a mere and overprotective request, his commanding officer seemed adamant on insisting his consideration. The sense of urgency in the Alliance's report clearly exaggerated, Tharsis found the stack of papers detesting as it were.

Slowly leaning back in his chair, the Sin'dorei gave a bushed and tired glance around the silent library. While he sometimes relished and basked in the rare quiet environment, he found neither comfort nor bliss in the void of movements and noise; his keen hearing not detecting any other sounds in the dwelling. Lifting a sculpted and curious brow at the notion, Tharsis spared an inquisitive gaze to the posh and lavish golden clock nestled amongst the papers that littered his desk. Taking in the placements of the immaculate hands, he felt his brows burrow together in slight perplexity and inner turmoil. Both quite surprised and somewhat dismayed with himself at allowing the entirety of the day slip by, the hour for dinner vastly approaching, Tharsis took a resolved and determined breath of air in as he pushed himself up from the chair. His boots emitting a small clatter off the glimmering marble floor, he made his way across the library with quick and precise footsteps. Pushing the colorful silks hanging in the doorway to the side, the commander forced his body to take a deep and relaxing breath as he turned towards the winding ramp to the upper regions of the house, his mind running through the last day's events.

Two days ago he left Deimos in the careful and helpful hands of the priests and was forced to endure yet another segment of questioning and blind waiting. Sitting outside the enchanted healing room, a position he unfortunately was in only recently, he utilized his few reserves of patience and serenity. Fortunately for him, and the priests that bustled around him, the waiting wasn't long. A small and calm smile gracing his features, Aldrae emerged from the room to inform the waiting commander of the good news; Deimos would be fine.

Shaking his head in silent contemplation of the memory, Tharsis slowly made his way up the smooth and marbled ramp, his hand sliding across the polished golden railing. The priests ensured the commander of the paladin's wellbeing, his handful of maladies not life threatening in the least, but insisted the young elf spend the night in the Spire for observation purposes. Though Deimos displayed his reluctance to heed the request, Tharsis was more adamant and persevering on the order.

His footsteps slowing slightly as he reached the top of the second floor, Tharsis glanced down the hallway, his eyes inspecting the layers of silks hanging in his son's doorway. Though he couldn't quite suppress feelings of disappointment and trivial frustration at the sincere lack of movement behind the fabric, he couldn't bring himself to dwell on such sensations. A day ago, upon bringing a tired and lethargic Deimos back to the house, the commander wasn't surprised to find the boy willingly going to his bedroom. The last sound of activity from the room coming from a brisk shower, the paladin was fast asleep in only a matter of minutes. Over the course of the past day, Tharsis spared several trips to the silent bedroom, the slumbering and still elf remaining unmoving. Reaching the doorway to the bedroom, Tharsis didn't give his actions a second thought when he pulled the silks to the side and proceeded to enter the room.

Similar to his other visits to the bedroom, the area was enveloped in a deep and heavy silence; a soft and steady respiration the only source of noise. Immediately turning his gaze to the rounded bed, the cascading blue silks around the head of the bed not impeding his ability to inspect the inhabitant, Tharsis narrowed his eyes on the sleeping paladin. Lying on his stomach with the frostweave blanket pulled up to his shoulders, mounds of soft and delicate pillows around him, Deimos was enveloped in a deep and profound slumber. Making his way towards the bed, his hand pushing the silks back to gain a better view of his son, Tharsis shifted his weight from one foot to the other in swift contemplation. His examining and questioning gaze running over the young elf's latent features, his decision was easy.

Lightly placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Tharsis gave the sleeping elf a tender yet firming nudge. His eyes watching his son's face for a sense of coherence and awareness, he gingerly increased the intensity of the shaking. Pulling his hand away when the paladin gently shifted his body, his face flinching slightly, Tharsis waited several beats to determine if a more pronounced prod was needed. A small and tired moan reaching his ears, the commander unwearyingly waited while wakefulness slowly seeped into the young elf's body.

His mind muddled and somewhat confused, a warming and blissful comfort encompassing his form, Deimos reluctantly cracked his emerald eyes open. Blinking several times at the sheer fatigue that plagued his body, his extremities and limbs still harboring a slight ache to them, the paladin felt a small groan pass through his lips. Feeling a set of eyes on him, he forced his body to comply with his wishes and prop himself up on an arm. Alertness still not fully dawning on him, he slowly turned tired and bemused eyes to the side of him, finding the source of his sleep disruption.

Arms crossed over his chest, his face solemn and passive, Tharsis eyed the somewhat coherent and awake boy. Moving his gaze over the young elf, he was content to find the few bruises and abrasion that once marred his features gone, his face looking clean and refreshed from his shower the day prior. "How do you feel?"

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Deimos allowed a beat to pass while he considered the question. While he had a slight twinge in his muscles and his mind felt fairly faint, the most profound discomfort came from a twisting and uncomfortable pain in his stomach. "Better. I'm pretty hungry though."

The commander nodded at the words. "I figured you would be. You've been asleep for the past day."

Blinking at the response, a sense of disbelief filling his mind, Deimos craned his neck to spare a glance out the window. An early evening sunlight flooding the room, he had a trying time fathoming how a day passed by when he felt he only sleep for a mere few hours. Turning his attention back to his father, the older elf still standing patiently with a somber expression, the paladin slowly pushed himself to a sitting position at the edge of the bed. "Huh. And I can probably keep sleeping."

Taking in the slightly abrasive and scratchy voice, Tharsis could only assume the effects of the severe dehydration and heat exhaustion would take more time to recover from. While the priests ensured the boy was at full health, they also informed the commander to expect residual effects from the maladies, which would dissipate slowly thereafter. "You got a nice tan out of this disaster."

Glancing up at the response, sensing the sarcasm dripping off the words, Deimos was taken by surprise and conditioned concern when the older elf moved forward and slowly assumed a sitting position beside him. While he unconsciously felt himself shy away from the elder elf's close proximity, a small yet profound voice in his being was begging for him to calm. The polar opposite emotions leaving him bemused and unsure, a recollection of harsh punishments and the memory of the warming embrace contrasting brutally, he was surprised to find it quite easy to calm and consider his father.

A small and tired smirk going across his face, Deimos glanced down at his naked arms from his short sleeve night shirt. "Now I just look dirty. It'll fad fast."

Eying the young elf's face, a lingering exhaustion evident in his eyes, the commander was satisfied to find the once haggard and spent features gone. Giving a long sigh, he felt a small smile spread on his face. "Doesn't Stormwind get more sun than here?"

Snapping his head up at the minute and quiet response, slightly bemused and puzzled behind the cryptic meaning, Deimos imploringly eyed his father. "Stormwind?"

Turning his gaze downcast, running his fingers over the delicately woven frostweave coverlet, Tharsis heaved a deep and thoughtful sigh. An eerie and uncanny silence enveloping the house in the past day, the ability to contemplate came easy; as well as musing the past few weeks. His chest rising and falling with another heavy breath, his mind attempting to organize his floating and tousled thoughts, the commander took a deep swallow; the malingering and surprising anxieties dissipating.

Moving his resolved stare back to his questioning and inquiring son, he felt an inner and profound turmoil in his chest beginning to rise, his being forcing the words to form; words he mulled over and contemplated for hours. "Deimos, in my life, I've only been truly and sincerely happy twice."

Involuntarily shifting his body on the bedside, the grave and solemn words striking a cord, Deimos glanced warily at his father. The only emotion he'd typically see from the elder elf being anger, it seemed the conversation was headed into uncharted waters. Unsure if perhaps he was meant to divulge or give a shaky opinion on his father's uncharacteristic demeanor and words, the paladin was greatly relieved to find him continuing.

"The first time was on my wedding day." Pausing as an onslaught of joyous memories and elated emotions stormed his being, Tharsis mentally cursed himself for bringing up the occasion; years of forcing back the memories behind a fortified wall disregarded. Taking a steady and even gulp of air, mentally subduing the recollections once again, he unknowingly glanced down at the gold band on his left finger. Forcing himself to turn his gaze back towards his son, who continued watching him silently, the commander was mindful to keep himself on track. "The second was when your mother told me she was pregnant with you."

The firm and intense gaze boring into him, Deimos felt a slight discomfort at the unfamiliarity and strangeness of the situation. While he had a silent and continued puzzlement in regard to his departed mother, the elder Sin'dorei not divulging much to him, he had enough knowledge that her unexpected death devastated his father. Depicting a minute and aberrant shakiness to the commander's tone, it only left the paladin in more bewilderment. Opening and closing his mouth several times as if willing a response to magically form on its own accord, he was dismayed to find himself dumbfounded at finding an appropriate answer. Years of being on the receiving end of cruel words and demeaning punishments left him the idea that his father wasn't the least bit happy with his presence.

"Your mother-she…" Angrily pausing in his speech as an unexpected wavering mysteriously crept into his voice, Tharsis allowed himself a second to attempt to get his emotions in check. Though conditioned alarms were sounding in his head to immediately desist the conversation, he refused to heed them. He was stirring up both painful yet joyous memories, his emotions in a conflicting war with one another at which to dominate his thoughts. Feeling a small and poignant smile go across his face, he didn't have to question which was triumphant. "She was so happy when she found out. And I was thrilled to be getting a son."

Shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, his palms beginning to sweat at the odd conversation and uncertain direction, Deimos was resolved to keep his gaze downcast on the blanket under him. Finding the intricate and delicate trim on the frostweave coverlet increasingly interesting, his promptly ignored the set of eyes firmly boring into him, a disheartening thought skirting his mind. If his father was once so excited and happy for his presence, perhaps he failed to live up the commander's preconceived expectations; his letdown as a son fueling his harsh upbringing. A constant and longing strive to consistently appease the elder elf, he felt his heart nearly plummet into his stomach at the sickening thought.

"Both me and your mother… we wanted you to be smart yet fair; qualities your mother had." A particular humorous memory surfacing to his mind, Tharsis felt the grin on his face grow. Though he immediately fell in a painful love with her from first glance, courting her was perhaps more trying that managing his entire regime. "We hoped you'd be strong and healthy, both physically and mentally. I wanted to raise you as a warrior, but your mother wanted you to study in Dalaran . I guess neither one of us won."

Blinking at the lighthearted and somewhat distracted tone, Deimos was sure to keep his gaze focused down at the blanket, his digits grazing over the soft trim. While he was hearing an immense amount of information pertaining to his mother, he couldn't bring himself to hold the firm stare from his father. The direction for the uncanny conversation was an enigma; he was fully prepared for a lengthy and longwinded lecture. The heartfilled words were the least of his expectations. Though, buried deep within his muddled and questioning thoughts was a billowing and warming sensation beginning to swell.

"She was always adamant on having you receive a good education and I wanted you to have the best training." Pausing as his small and reminiscent smile slowly faded from his face, a darkness sweeping over his features, Tharsis took a deep breath of air. Narrowing his eyes on his son's downcast face, not bothering to take heed in his failure to maintain eye contact, the commander set his jaw in determination. "Above all else, we both wanted you to be happy. And though I don't care that I disregarded her wish for you to waste your days in the academy, I regret that you're unhappy."

Darting his gaze up from the blue fabric, Deimos moved shocked eyes moved over the poignant commander's face. "_Ann'da_, I'm-"

Quickly lifting a hand to hush the boy, Tharsis' strong will and firm resolve didn't waver. "Deimos, I planned on training you to be a soldier before you were born. What I didn't plan on was raising you alone. When your mother died, I-" Stopping to take a deep breath, his struggling mind battling back the wave of hurtful and unpleasant memories from the horrendous day, Tharsis forced his thoughts to stay focused. Though he spent hours mulling over the course and direction the conversation would go, it seemed the dedicated time did little in terms of calm his wits. "I was…I didn't know what to do. I was mourning when I should've been happy. And I took it out on you."

The words, though carrying through the air with a slight shakiness, left Deimos in slight awe and astonishment. While he created his own assumptions for the reasoning behind his upbringing, attributing majority of it to the death of his mother, he was always left with an uncertainty. Perhaps the demanding orders and cruel training were a result of his failure as both a soldier and a son, his soul shuddering at the notion. The unusual tone and words from the commander, however, elated his being, unanswered and unsure questions rushing to the forefront of his eager mind.

"I know you're not content here; in Silvermoon or with me. And though I kept you unhappy the first twenty years of your life, the least I can do is give you the opportunity to go where you are happy." Taking a large swallow, a slight sliver of his stubborn pride being forced down, Tharsis was sure to keep his level gaze locked onto Deimos' inquiring and somewhat stunned eyes. "It's obvious that there are people in Stormwind that care about you. They spent hours with me tracking you down and risked their lives looking for you. And while I don't particularly like humans, I'll respect that you do. Be as it may, I will give you my permission to go to Stormwind…permanently."

Unable to hold the stare with his son any longer, his swelling reluctance at the situation threatening to spill from his mouth, Tharsis sent his gaze to the side. Moving his eyes over the adjacent wall, his stare lingering on the neat row of sharpened swords resting on pegs, he was sure to keep his mouth clamped tightly shut. Though he strongly contemplated and decided on the decision hours ago, a profoundly obstinate voice was screaming in his head to reconsider. Sure, he felt surprising and sincere remorse at depriving the boy of a joyous life, but perhaps Stormwind wasn't the solution. Could he not provide a more meaningful life for his son under his watch? Perhaps it was the notion that someone else could offer him a better lifestyle that bothered him so. Though he could search the corners of Azeroth and beyond and subdue physical harm that would come to Deimos, he simply failed at supplying the emotional wellbeing he ought to get. While he was a successful commander, he simply fell short as a parent.

Upon finding Deimos at Stormwind and his keenness at falling comfortably into the human capital, Tharsis couldn't deny that he felt a sharp pang of discomfort. At first thought, he assumed it simply attributed to the fact that his son so readily accepted the foreign race, despite past history and strained relations. Upon further examination and deep contemplation, he was stunned to realize it didn't matter which race or capital the boy would have chosen to reside in over Silvermoon. It was the mere fact that Deimos had longed for something, despite its unfamiliarity and foreignness, over his home and father. Upon further reflection, however, Tharsis couldn't quite blame the paladin. And that harsh and bold realization was perhaps more hurtful than knowing his son wished to live elsewhere.

"_Ann'da_," a small and quiet voice began, the word coming out carefully. "I-I don't want to live in Stormwind. I want to stay here."

Snapping his eyes back to face his son, Tharsis' surprised gaze met Deimos' soft and patient one. The questioning and bemused expression gone, the boy's features were more calm and relaxed, a slight eagerness shining in his emerald eyes. Simply dumbfounded at the reaction, prepared for false gratitude at giving him what he sought, the commander quickly attempted to mull over the response in his mind. "I'm allowing you to go to Stormwind. I've already talked with Steele and he's happy to have you stay with him."

Digesting the words and the confused tone, Deimos took a deep sigh. While his father was right in all respects with his longing to return to the human capital, he simply couldn't bring himself to accept the offer. If the horrendous and trying experience in the past few weeks left him with anything, it was the reassurance of where he truly called home and who he relied on. While a protesting voice in his mind berated him for turning down the proposal, the greater part of him felt content and at ease in his decision.

Glancing around himself, his eyes taking in the used and broad swords and neatly organized desk against the wall, he swept his gaze around the area. The room typically well-groomed and upkept, the blanket on the bed was disheveled and untidy, while the mounds of pillows were randomly assorted on top. Moving his eyes down to the side of the bed, it seemed in the midst of his sleep he pushed some pillows off the bed, several pieces of bedding littering the usually clean floor. About to turn his gaze back to his father, a minute yet familiar object laying with the forgotten pillows on the ground caught his eye. A small grin spreading on his face, Deimos moved his stare from the stuffed pandaren to Tharsis.

Opening his mouth, the young elf carefully chose his words. "Thanks for the offer but, I'd like to stay here. Sometimes your high standards are annoying and the bedtime could definitely change, but I like living here. And since I came back from Stormwind, well, I've liked being here. I like being with you."

Swallowing deeply at the response, in slight awe at the near opposite reaction he was expecting, Tharsis tilted his head as he considered the paladin under examining and firm eyes. "Are you sure? I won't make this offer again, Deimos."

Running a hand through his cropped hair, still relishing the freshly washed sensation, the young elf took a deep breath. "I know. And I'm sure. I just want to be able to visit my friends there."

Several beats of silence passing over the two elves, Tharsis moved his eyes over the paladin's face, searching and waiting for any hints of reluctance in his response. His eyes were genuine, his face placid and somber. However much the commander continued his deep and thorough examining, he couldn't detect a sliver of uncertainty. Having spent an immense amount of time pondering and preparing the speech to the boy, as well as playing the events he assumed would pan out following the conversation, he was baffled as to where they would move from there. He hadn't planned on it. It seemed that was a theme at parenting however.

Taking a deep breath, slowly exhaling the air in a calming manner, the elder Sin'dorei nodded in swift thought. "Alright then."

Wetting his lips and shifting slightly on the bedside as a sharp hunger pain swept through his body, Deimos carefully watched his father's face for a hint of a reaction. Easily detecting a lingering confusion and bemusement, he was also able to distinguish a small and nearly diminutive ounce of relief on a usually blank featured commander. Tilting his head as he considered the elder Sin'dorei, the paladin found a great sense of his own relief at seeing his father's acceptance of his decision. While the last two decades could never be erased or forgotten, perhaps the two elves were finally taking a step in the right direction.

Gingerly pushing himself off the bed, Tharsis immediately dove a hand into a front pocket. Turning his gaze back to his son, he pulled his hand out to display a hanging and familiar object. "Lost something?"

His eyes recognizing the ruby pendant and black chain, Deimos grinned widely as he darted a hand out and grabbed the heirloom necklace. "I left it in Murder Row when I got captured. You found it?"

Watching the paladin work the clasp around his neck, Tharsis lifted a delicate brow in thought. So it seemed the boy did have at least the sense to leave a trail behind. "A different elf did." Pausing while he felt his own stomach plead for the delicious smelling meal waiting below them, he felt his gaze firm as a thought swept across his mind. "If you would've listened to me, and never stepped foot in Murder Row, this never would have happened."

The heavy and boring stare erupting a scarlet flush on his cheeks, Deimos hung his head at the words. It seemed escaping the lecture wasn't going to happen. "Yeah I know. I'm sorry."

Eying the boy's immediate acceptance of a subdued and obedient role, the display making him both pleased yet sick, the commander briefly considered continuing into a lengthy discussion pertaining to his lack of responsibility and utter disregard for rules. The sweet aroma of the delicate meal awaiting them, however, swiftly convinced him to prolong the lecture until nourishment was found. Considering the extended amount of sleep his son got, Tharsis could only fathom how hungry he was.

"We'll talk after dinner," Tharsis exclaimed as he began to make his way towards the silk covered doorway. His mind was still buzzing with the prospective route to take the lecture, as well as deciding on a proper punishment; most likely in the form of extended training hours and a long grounding. The proper time to execute both would have to wait. The boy obviously still feeling the residual effects of the maladies that plagued his spent body, the warrior would heed the time required to ensure he was safely brought to full health; both mentally and physically. While a verbal reprimand could be delivered initially, any physical punishment would have to wait.

Watching mutely as the warrior pulled back the silks and disappeared into the hall, Deimos took a deep and thoughtful breath of air. His muscles still harbored a slight twinge of discomfort to them, his limbs begged to be stretched. While he was thankful for the long hours of sleep he was granted, his body still pleaded for more reprise, the soft and comforting bed tempting him to ignore his father's unspoken order to meet him downstairs for the meal. The empty and paining hole in his stomach, however, seemed to also agree with the commander; food was top priority and sleeping could wait.

Slowly pushing himself off the bedside, his face wincing at the muscles in use, Deimos delicately began his trek to the connected bathroom. Though he could shower to awaken himself more, he had every intention on returning to the bed following dinner. Simply refreshing himself would have to suffice. And, after his father's atypical and kind words, the paladin sincerely doubted the elder Sin'dorei would complain about his appearance.

Sighing to himself as he pulled the thick and obscuring fabric to the side, the boy considered the conversation with his father. It was perhaps the first time in many years that he could recall the harsh commander allowing his strong facade to weaken in allowance of thoughtful words; and the feeling of having knowledge of the unknown lifted a heavy burden off the young paladin's mind. No longer did he suspect his father despised his presence immediately, but it seemed he was rather excited for getting a son. Though he knew little in terms of the history pertaining to his mother, only hearing from others that there were complications at his birth that caused her death, the small information he gained he viewed as vast. While he didn't question Tharsis about her presence or her qualities, a small imploring part of him was always tempted.

But the most profound meaningful words weren't about his mother or knowledge about her enigma identity; it was when he expressed his wish and desire for the paladin to be happy. A small smile growing on his face, Deimos glanced into the large mirror hanging on the bathroom wall. He wasn't sure what had caused his father to come to such a revelation, his kind words and behaviors in the past few weeks coming to mind, yet he didn't care. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt overly content and comfortable in the commander's usually overbearing presence. During the past week and his trying experience, he came to realize how much he truly turned to the elder elf for not only safety and refuge but also guidance and support. He clung onto the teachings and words the elder elf gave him, heeding them typically to perfection. And though he loathed the suffocating rules and dictatorial decrees he set in place, Deimos was ready to accept them with his father's novel caring traits.

Grinning as he ran his fingers over the delicate ruby necklace, his digits grazing over the etched Thalassian symbol, he thanked the Light for having him walk into Murder Row that day.


End file.
